Spiders in Silver
by Astridhe
Summary: Life is not ideal even for a female drow in Menzoberranzan, particularly if not a priestess. And even more so if one has a gift that is poorly understood but so easily used. Original characters. Rating subject to change.
1. The House of Abandonment

The air was dark and thick with the smell of smoke, hanging over Sabal like a cloud as she curled up to sleep on the frigid stone floor—a welcome relief from the heat of small bodies packed together like crates. Too many bodies and not enough space or food. The bones of her ribs stood out like the ridges of a washboard and her hip pressed into the smooth rock uncomfortably. She cared little, fingers dancing over the bruises on her angular face. They were almost familiar, fresh ones appearing before the old ones had even healed. Life was full of unexpected strikes. If nothing else, it taught her to be aware of the world around her.

Punishment for...she wasn't sure. Existing, perhaps?

The House of Abandonment was not a kind place by any stretch of the imagination. Unwanted, unneeded, children fought for the necessities of life or died. They said those who came out alive were the cruelest and coldest of drow. Perhaps because they understood that they lived in a world where compassion was weakness and nothing cared if they survived or fell into the dust. They knew that there was no room for failure and that life existed in a precarious balance on the edge of a razor, always threatening to tumble off the blade one way or another. Or perhaps that divine razor would slice it in half, separating not right from wrong, but living and the dead. There was no right or wrong. Only survival.

She was hungry, always hungry. Even when she won the scraps, there wasn't enough to fill her stomach. Just enough to make sure she never lost the gnawing ache of an empty belly, the hot knot of insides curling in on themselves. It almost would have been easier if she failed. A slow, gradual weakening until one day the beating broke the wrong bone or eyes just drifted shut never to open again. At least it was over for them. Even as a child, she understood that sometimes there were things worse than death.

Sabal touched the small necklace she wore for comfort, the only thing that had come with her into this place. It was a small, tarnished silver disk with a strange symbol on it—possibly like one of the glyphs that marked different houses, she couldn't be sure—and her name engraved on the back in neat drow lettering. Well, she wasn't sure if it was her name. It was certainly a name. Even when they were kindly inclined, no one here bothered to call her anything but "brat" or "whelp". But it was the name she used for herself. It had a nice sound to it.

Perhaps it had belonged to her mother? She knew only in an abstract way that she must have had one once. She never felt it worth the energy to hate that absent figure. Sometimes she wondered why, if she had a mother, she was here. She couldn't have done something, not as an infant. Was there even a reason?

There was a sudden creak as the door eased open. The girl shot up and bolted to the back of the room with the other children crowded in here. The hulking figure of G'eldorl filled the door, shambling in and reaching out to swat some of the tiny bodies away with one arm. His father had been a draegloth, and the powerful, demonic size passed down into the male half-drow. But behind the male came a slender, unfamiliar figure. The woman wore beautiful dark armor emblazoned with web patterns, leather and metal meshing together seamlessly to flex and bend without a sound. The symbol of Lloth was emblazoned on her chest and a crimson sash that matched her eyes was wound around her waist. Her ivory hair hung loose around her face, framing the foreign angles of a stranger's face.

This one walked with power. With purpose. She was here for a reason and Sabal knew it as well as anyone could. She didn't belong in a place like the House of Abandonment. Why would a predator chase such paltry game? It begged the question of why their guest was here.

Sabal's ear twitched slightly when a bigger female's shoulder brushed against it. They were always bumping into each other here in the small spaces, but that didn't mean she liked it. The smell of perfume and a clean body cut through the filth and odors of the cramped and crowded space. It made her hesitate, which was just long enough for a brutally clawed hand to seize her by the arm and rip her away from the others. "This is the one, Honored Xullae," G'eldorl growled out in his guttural voice.

The drow girl twisted and tried to flee, clawing at the male's arm fiercely with small but sharp nails. G'eldorl hit her across the face with enough force to stun, the loud slap echoing through the room. Sabal blinked hazily, everything spinning as a burning feeling spread across her narrow face.

"That's enough, G'eldorl. The girl's half mad with fear." The voice flowed over Sabal like liquid silver, instantly calming her whether she liked it or not. The effect was almost like magic. "Bring her out. I will find the truth of this matter."

Sabal went limp out of spite, making the half-drow drag her out. He dumped her unceremoniously in the courtyard of the large, rambling building, and at the feet of the clean female. The girl focused on the boots, knowing that was safe. Looking into eyes was dangerous. _Speak only when spoken to._ Every lesson had been beaten into her soundly. That seemed to be the only way they knew how to teach her, perhaps because she'd long ago shut her ears intentionally.

A soft hand touched her grimy cheek, delicate fingers tracing an older welt around the edges. The touch was light enough not to cause her any pain. "You received this from the male with one eye?" the silver voice asked.

Sabal nodded slightly. The harmonics of the woman's speech indicated lying was not an option. In fact, it suggested subtly that lying would be met with punishment. Or perhaps that was what she was reading from it. The girl had always been talented at understanding people. It was almost like she could brush aside their walls and peer directly into their innermost thoughts.

"And what happened after that?" The questions were not insistent, more like gentle nudges that kept her going with her story. They didn't work perfectly because Sabal was keeping her lips so tightly sealed, but it did get the girl to relax the slightest bit.

"I hit him," the girl answered, twisting her fingers together to hide the tremor in her hands. "But not on purpose. I was so angry. He fell...blood came out of his nose. And then he got up." There was something soothing about the fingers stroking her cheek, yet also terrifying. No one touched Sabal without pain. Clearly, this woman wanted something. Why else would someone do that?

"Have you always been able to do this?" The crimson eyes looking down at her certainly didn't seem hostile or suspicious, which was a little more unnerving. She knew what to do with anger and malice. This pleasant sort of curiosity didn't mesh well with what she knew of the world. The hand moved away and Sabal tried to shrink back as she nodded.

_Do you want to leave this place, Sabal?_ Silvery words formed in her thoughts without passing through her ears, dancing across the surface of her mind. _You have the same gift I do. You could learn to use it...become more than what you are._

Sabal pushed back a little, answering the same way. She didn't know how she did it, only that it came to her as naturally as breathing. She had always been able to express her thoughts or even put them into someone else's head. If she had known others had to struggle to achieve the same effect, she would have been incredulous. _Yes_.

The woman laughed, and this time Sabal felt the hand pet her head indulgently. "Come, then. G'eldorl, you will have your gold. She is what I was looking for." _You may call me Xullae, Sabal. I am your teacher now._

The girl didn't understand precisely what that meant, but she was no fool. Things were about to change. Perhaps for the better, even.


	2. A Lesson on Priestesses

Shrouded in shadows, Revered Daughter Yvonnel reflected upon all that had come to pass. She knelt on the cold stone floor, robes offering little in the way of protection from the chill. Just ahead of her came the soft, constant dripping of dark rivulets as they coursed along the grooves of the black altar and landed in the congealing pool that was cradled so lovingly in the bowls held aloft by stone demons.

It was beautiful, the chapel. She closed her eyes and thought of earlier again, the sobbing and the screams that wafted up to her goddess like a hymn profane. How perfect a culmination of life and death, a masterpiece of the delicate art of plunging a dagger with such caring precision as to strike the heart and offer a blessed end to the tortures crafted for the amusement of the Spider Queen. It was a duty done, a heretic removed, and a rival's position weakened.

Yvonnel was a woman of limitless ambition. Lesser minds might have called her mad, but those who knew her better concealed a far more unnerving truth. The priestess was terrifyingly, coldly, perfectly sane. And in that frozen steel of a sanity was born something that far surpassed simple madness.

"You summoned me," Xullae said quietly from directly behind her. It was no question, whatever the inflections in her voice might have intended to say.

The Reverend Daughter showed no surprise on her face. Somewhere, back in the depths of her youth, she had lost the ability to be astonished. Instead, she admired Xullae for some of the many qualities she commanded: grace, discretion, and the ability to move unheard as well as unseen. Yvonnel rose slowly, finishing her devotions with a soft symbol sketched in the air by her fingers, gold ring gleaming in the faint light of the braziers. "I did," she said, turning. "Walk with me. I wish to hear more of your pupil."

"She improves," Xullae said flatly.

Yvonnel laughed, smile crossing her angelic features with a careless air. How beautiful the expression of mirth sounded as it hung in the air like the ring of a glass bell! It had been the last thing many a victim heard. "Your reputation as a conversationalist must be unrivaled, Xullae," the priestess said smoothly. "If you would care to elaborate?"

"If I must. She has more of the gift than I had anticipated. Her talents increase without training...she explores them when I leave her unattended to escape her boredom. I suppose it is preferable to her earlier hobby, which was causing trouble. She seeks my approval constantly. When I ignore her, she wreaks mayhem until I rebuke her, apparently in the belief that any attention is good attention. She is nimble, if weak, and very difficult to contain with menial activities. She will finish them and then go steal anything that isn't nailed down as if to spite me," Xullae said harshly.

"You like her," Yvonnel commented slyly. The scowl she earned from Xullae only served to confirm her suspicions. "She does not need schooling like the others?"

"She is a...natural talent. What literature calls a 'wilder'. What sorcerers are to arcana, she is to the mind," Xullae explained in the same cold, clipped tone. "Her powers wax and wane with the fluctuations in her mood. Without control, she will be very unstable. I came to you to ask for permission to abandon the standard training regimen."

"A difficult request. The Church does not approve of such questioning of their authority," Yvonnel said. She appeared to ponder this for a moment. "However...perhaps I can convince them to reconsider their stance. You say she would become unstable without control. What do you intend? We had already discussed drugs, as with the others."

Xullae shook her head sharply. "Those are not the answer. They would cripple her and you would have nothing but a shell. She has already learned to focus her mind much. It is a tool many children learn in the House of Abandonment. They wish to close away the pain from the rest of their being, sometimes even creating separate facets of their mind to protect themselves. I need to push her harder mentally, however. She excels when I demand, when I hound. Allow me to push the limits, and I promise you that she will be well worth the risk of the investment."

"You cannot expect me to approve of letting her off her leash," Yvonnel said casually, eyes flickering slightly as she paused in the hall outside of the temple and turned to read Xullae's expression.

"I will have sway over her. And when the time comes, she will take her vows and then you will have the greatest leash of all," Xullae insisted. "She has potential, Revered Yvonnel."

"It is a risk I-"

"She could kill a mindflayer." 

Yvonnel stopped and raised an eyebrow. Xullae could feel the wheels turning, though Yvonnel had taken precautions to ward her thoughts at all times. "We have warriors with shielding who can do that."

"Not on its own ground. Not without their little trinkets. Imagine a weapon we could send into their Enclaves, supposedly under their thrall, only to break free and open the gates for us," Xullae said. The stern inquisitor knew now she had the attention of the Reverend Daughter. "Or a force that could shatter the psionic warding of heretics who fear us and strike straight into the depths of their mind. This is the kind of potential I speak of. The Church will always fear such instruments of the Goddess. But there are those like you and I who would sing in their hearts to bring such a weapon against the Spider Queen's foes."

The priestess of Lloth reflected upon this, weighing it very, very carefully. It would no doubt end up costing her favors to agree, but if Xullae was speaking honestly—and she had no reason to lie—then this was a proposition well worth her time. And she was not thinking solely about rooting out heretics, either. There were certain powerful women in the city she would love to see frothing and convulsing as their consciousness and being was stripped apart.

Yvonnel exhaled ever so slightly. "I will...inquire. Perhaps pressure a few to speak differently than they might upon first thought. But I promise nothing, of course."

Xullae inclined her head to the priestess. "Of course, Revered Yvonnel."

The priestess left for her lavish quarters and Xullae in turn made for the barracks of the Yath'Abban. It was a brief walk from the Fane itself, allowing her a window into the vast and busy streets of Menzoberranzan.

The city held a thousand smells, a thousand sounds. Voices hawking wares, the sharp rebukes of slavers as they trained new chattel brought in from raids, hundreds of discussions and arguments, great lizards pulling creaking wagons through avenues, a spider tender whistling as he nudged along his charges with a crook—these subtle cadences of the city rose and blended with the smells of spiced meat, crowds, the slave pens, and so many other things. Xullae, however, once found little comfort in it. When first she had come to the city from the wilds where she had lived almost wholly alone for so much of her youth, the endless ocean of minds and thoughts had almost driven her mad. But behind her iron walls of will, she was encased in solitude.

When the drowess moved through the streets, a gap formed around her on all sides. Chittering little goblins fought to get out of her way, and that was without the snapping whip or bodyguards to shove. The unflinching air of something predatory was impossible to avoid, coupled with cold indifference. Her expression had all the concern of a shark's as it cruised through schools of fish. It did not take a genius to sense, even without psionic abilities, the presence of a mind honed to deadly purpose.

She evaluated constantly, allowing herself to skim across the surface of the roiling gray blend of thoughts that surrounded. Red crackles of anger as minds came to a focus of violence, pale fear that scattered them just as easily, yellow anxiety curling itself into tangles. She could not see these, but she felt them without use of her eyes, just as real as if she were gazing past people's eyes to the mysteries behind them. One could not keep a secret from an inquisitor who wished to hear it. For the most part, however, Xullae allowed it to wash over her like waves upon a shore. There was more information here than she would ever have time to comprehend, and almost all of it contained little of use.

She snapped out of her thoughts only when her feet hit the familiar, worn steps of the Yath'Abban barracks. It was a large and rambling building with plenty of grounds, the home of the Dread Fangs of Lloth and her few fellow inquisitors. Even the Eyes used it as a safe house when they needed it, a place to rest and recover even as they conducted clandestine meetings and arranged to make use of either the Fangs or the inquisitors.

The drowess pressed her hand against the double doors, feeling magic spark around her flesh and course through the stone. There was a brief surge through the wards, and then the iron swung open without resistance or a sound, as if blown by the breath of Lloth herself. And after Xullae had walked through, they closed just as silently.

"You are back. About time," a rasping voice said from her left. It was Ryld, and she didn't even have to look over to know it. The scarred and deformed male drow was just another castaway, once just a simple fighter who now made his living as a thief...and an Eye of Lloth. Not even priestesses would look twice at him in the street with his grubby clothes, but no locked or warded door in the city could keep him out.

"Are the patrol rosters up?" Xullae asked without looking at him.

In a strange way, Ryld had always found Xullae's manner oddly reassuring. You always knew what you were getting: a cold manner and a bitter attitude. He found her constancy to be a refreshing change from the females he knew, who were so willing to play up seduction and then suddenly whip out a knife in a lust that had less to do with bed and more to do with blood. "Yes. And your little imp has been getting into trouble while you were gone. Our visiting priestesses complained rather vehemently about her behavior towards them. Fortunately for little Sabal, she is too quick to be caught."

"Pity. They might have spared my arm the exercise," Xullae said shortly.

Ryld chuckled. "You'd have made an excellent mother, my dear. Shall I leave you to your chastising?"

Xullae made a sharp gesture almost of banishment with her hand, indicating she wanted to be alone. The drowess wore her anger like an armor, impassive in the face of all the world had to offer her. It was difficult to illicit reactions with pain when one came to expect it and thrive upon it. However, that made her a harsh teacher.

_Sabal!_

The psionic beckon jerked the girl back into wakefulness. Sabal had concealed herself at the joining of a support arch and a statue, nestled in a little hiding place to nap while pursuit died away. Her pulse started to race now. That was unmistakably Xullae, and she did not sound happy. An unhappy Xullae usually meant an unhappy Sabal was soon to follow.

The skinny drow child uncurled and scrambled down, racing off through the halls. She skidded to a halt in front of Xullae, amber eyes wide and cagey.

The impenetrable walls of icy fury that always seemed to be present around Xullae's mind seemed even more foreboding than usual, as if the shadows of anger they cast were only heralds of darker things to come. Sabal tried not to shudder, clenching her hands at her sides and holding them there. Xullae herself seemed taller and more imposing, crimson eyes narrowed and her lips pressed thin to express her displeasure. The inquisitor had always been remarked upon for the stern arrogance off her features, and her foul mood only enhanced that quality.

"What have I told you about priestesses?" she hissed, the silver voice lower than normal.

"To stay quiet, to stay busy, and to stay away," Sabal recited back, utterly still. For such a fidgety girl, it was an impressive feat of will.

"And yet you cannot follow even the simplest of my instructions. Training room, now."

"I—" Sabal tried.

"_Now_." The word was both psionic and audible, hammered into her mind with such an intensity that to disobey was impossible. The girl ran, barely making it through the door before Xullae. The speed that normally served Sabal so well in escaping from her misbehavior was not sufficient now.

"Xullae, I—"

"Let us see if I can impress it into you now," her mentor said flatly. Sometimes, Sabal just wished she would snarl and become angry like a normal drow. But instead, Xullae seemed so coldly rational and so perfectly controlled.

The first blow came before Sabal even had time to think, slamming into the walls that protected her mind and shattering them like glass. The girl almost dropped to her knees with a gasp, tears flooding to her eyes. "Xullae!"

She could feel the sneer inside her own thoughts. _What, you want me to be gentle with you? Do you think Lloth will be kind when it is Her you fail? Better you prick at my touch than bleed your all at Hers!_

Sabal couldn't stifle the cry of animal pain that clawed out of her throat as Xullae filled her essence and whole being with a writhing agony. No torture could compare to this—the mind endured aware of its suffering long after a body would give out. And then the blackness came as fear overcame everything else, throwing up walls and closing herself off from everything.

The room went quiet, broken only by little sobs of breath from Sabal's twitching form. Xullae looked down at her charge, face impassive. It was impossible to discern what she might have been feeling. Then the inquisitor moved, gently picking up the girl and carrying her back to their shared quarters. Xullae tucked Sabal in, then sat down in the chair and waited.

It felt like days had passed when Sabal managed to open her eyes again, but she knew it could have only been minutes. Her head still throbbed painfully, but at least she was alive. And in bed. The girl turned, rolling on her side.

"What is this?" Xullae asked softly, touching something on the side table. Her voice was normal again, which reassured Sabal.

The girl concentrated a little, her eyes slowly coming back into focus. Then she tried to curl up in a ball and hide under the sheet. "It-t...umm...I...I-I made it."

Xullae turned the dagger over in her hands carefully, as if it was a cherished and antique weapon. The blade jagged, as if it had been pieced together from numerous blades that didn't match. The metal swirled, blended together not by normal tempering but by the ferocious concentration of psionic energy. However, Sabal's knowledge of smithing was less than perfect, so the weight was towards the blade, which was itself not quite knife-like. It was pointed, yes, and it was about the right shape with an edge, except the blood channel wandered a bit from side to side, like its maker had been distracted. The hilt was fairly simple, the grip wrapped with scraps of leather Sabal had probably scrounged in the armory. But set in the center of the pommel was a tiny silver spider with very careful detail, as if she'd made a little copy of a real living one with metal.

"Where did you get the silver?"

Sabal looked nervous and shook her head a little, as if determined not to answer. But she caved quickly. "There was a coin, and they weren't using it anyway, so I just took it and ran."

Xullae raised an eyebrow slightly. "They being the priestesses?"

The way the girl looked steadfastly at the wall behind Xullae's shoulder was all the answer that the inquisitor needed.

"Why did you make this, Sabal?"

Sabal looked absolutely wretched now, twisting the sheets in her fingers. "I...y-you lost th-that knife, remember? The one you r-really liked? I w-was trying t-t-to make a new one for you, so y-you'd feel better. It h-had a sp-sp-spider t-too."

For the first time, Xullae looked stunned. Then the lines in her face softened slightly and the armor disappeared. She set the knife on the table, framing Sabal's face in her hands. She was silent for a long time, just looking into those eyes. How was this girl still so eager for her approval after so much? Even on the heels of that little "lesson".

"I was angry when I came back," Xullae said finally, her silver voice tarnished slightly by a little catch in her throat. "It was...not your fault. I was cruel to you, Sabal. Rest now, and things will be better when you wake. I promise."

Sabal looked confused, but she nodded slightly and closed her eyes, doing her best to sleep.

The girl didn't see Xullae very carefully pick up the ugly little knife with its silver spider hilt and take it with her when she left the room.


	3. Power and Control

There were only two things in the world that mattered, Sabal had learned: power and control. Xullae had never said it explicitly—this was how the girl knew it to be true. Words were lies more often than not. Actions, however, were far more honest.

"Ryld, are they ever going to stop?" Sabal asked quietly, looking up from scrubbing the floor in the hall. These days she had become accustomed to the endless array of menial tasks that always needed to be done, but that didn't mean she particularly enjoyed them. It was as if Xullae wanted her to never have a moment to sit still and relax. The disfigured male was good enough company, even if his stories went from fascinating to somewhat disturbing. As Xullae herself had once put it, if Ryld decided to share, you could never un-know what he'd told you.

From down the halls came the dulcet tones of...well, it wasn't love some priestess and a male were making, just a lot of noise. He sounded less happy about the whole affair than she did on the whole.

Sabal found it vaguely irritating, like many things full grown drow did. Ryld had insinuated many times that in ten years or so she'd feel differently. For her part, the bony girl just stuck her tongue out at him or pretended to be ill. It made him grin.

The male drow looked up from his book, lounging on one of the benches between two of the support pillars. "Hmm? Oh...probably not for a while, _qu'essan. _Priestesses rarely have the courtesy to make it quick and painless. Poor bastard. Good thing I'm an ugly son of a bitch, no?"

From the time of her birth until now, Sabal couldn't recall a time where anyone other than Ryld called her by a pet name. It was an odd rhythm that she'd settled into between the deformed male with his easy-going manner and Xullae's frigid demeanor. Both had things to teach, though Ryld insisted most of his ramblings would make more sense when she was older.

"Xullae never does that. Is it only priestesses?" Sabal ventured, frowning as she wore away at another bloodstain on the chapel floor with a soapstone.

"That's because she's an ice queen, _qu'essan_," Ryld said in good humor, fingers dancing across the edge of his page. "Normally, all female drow make their amusement in similar fashion. As do males. Where do you think you came from? Lloth didn't craft you out of stone, you know." He chuckled when she made a face of disgust.

"My mother wasn't so noisy, I'm sure," she asserted, brow furrowing more as she worked furiously to get up the last of the stain.

"Of course not, _qu'essan. _I am certain she was the paragon of silence," he murmured absently, turning back to his book. He could almost feel her glare.

"You're making fun of me."

"Perish at the thought."

He heard a little sniff of disdain and almost laughed aloud. The little spidery girl that Xullae had brought back from the House of Abandonment with those wide eyes and that terrified aspect of a slave was finally beginning to outgrow her shell. It was easier now to see what Xullae had seen, the resilience and strength that hid under the surface. And more than that, by Lloth she was a stubborn one. As hard as the inquisitor pushed, Sabal still pushed back. A pity she couldn't cast—he'd have loved to see her as a priestess.

"Ryld, are you being a distraction?" Xullae's silver voice was as cool as ever.

"Never, Xullae. I'm reading a book," he said, holding it up as if evidence of his innocence. Judging from the icy look she gave him, it only served to make him look guiltier.

"Yvonnel will be here soon. I had hoped to find the chapel cleaner than when I left, not just wetter."

Sabal's amber eyes narrowed slightly, meeting the offhand challenge that had been leveled at her. "If you don't like how I clean it, you could always do it," she said with a sullen bite. The girl focused her mind and pushed out when the mental blow came, softening it to what was basically just a little sting in her thoughts that only made her eyes water a little. Expecting it made it much easier to fight back.

It was the test that never ended, to push the boundaries and then survive unscathed. She was still working on the second part. _Power and control._

"Had I struck you with my full force, we would not be having this conversation," Xullae said, a faint curl of her lip marking her disapproval of the block. But behind the expression, Sabal caught the briefest flash of satisfaction. The girl beamed.

Ryld watched the interaction with amusement. Still, his curiosity was anything but sated. "What does Yvonnel want, then?"

"To speak to you. About what, I shudder to think. But she does have strange tastes, so there is that," Xullae said, taking a seat on the steps where they had dried. The many shifting pieces of her armor allowed her to move unrestricted, whispering slightly as they brushed over each other. The inquisitor's gear was always immaculately clean, but never polished like that of the proud, prized warriors of the Houses. She lived always in the shadows.

Ryld's face twisted into a semblance of a grin, acid-scarred face puckering and tugging in unnatural ways. He waved one of his hand, the one that was withered and burned into a hideous claw-like shape, trapped in a half-curled position by ropy scar tissue. "Do I detect a note of humor, there? Truly, the fiery hells have frozen over. No, I expect she is here to call on me about yet another allegation of heresy. As if priestesses have nothing better to do than scrutinize the zeal of their own ranks. Still, if Yvonnel stands to benefit, I'd rather be on her side than not."

"Sabal, training room. You will finish cleaning it later," Xullae said, looking over at her charge.

If the girl's arms were tired from all of her scrubbing, she was wise enough not to so much as think a complaint. Instead, she shot up to her feet and sped off, the inquisitor stalking after her for instruction. The deformed male settled back with his book, letting out a content sigh as he flipped to the page. His gnarled frame was alight with anticipation now. This was the description of the actual ritual itself that most of the author's notes and explanations had been leading up to. Next time he encountered Eilistraee's followers, he would know exactly how to bypass their-

"Just the man I was hoping to find."

Ryld bit down on a curse, snapping the book shut. "I had thought you would take more time in arriving, Revered Yvonnel," he said smoothly, the corner of his grotesque and permanent snarl twitching slightly in irritation. Thankfully, with all the other various twitches and idiosyncratic movements his body had developed over a very eventful life, it was almost impossible for the priestess to notice it.

Yvonnel drew back slightly despite herself, revulsion dancing across her features undisguised. No one, save for perhaps a bored Sabal, enjoyed his company. Even scrubbed up, Ryld looked like the bastard child of a drow and some twisted hunch-back acid monster. He used his hideous features to his advantage quite often, as even going near some priestesses was enough to make them almost throw up. Ugliness was not always such a bad thing. It at least granted him freedom from that manner of harassment. "My business is important," she said shortly. "I want you to...observe something, and if it comes to it, I wish you to bring it to a final end."

"Who?" he said with what might have once been called a winning smile. It looked more like the expression she'd seen a torture victim take when they saw their own entrails.

"The wilder." She noted a little flicker of interest in his red eyes. "Psionics are like mad dogs, Ryld. You know this as well as I. Menzoberranzan cannot afford to have her lose control in the center of the city. A simple and quick end will suffice."

"Disappointing. I expect more creativity from priestesses," the male drow said casually, setting his book aside.

"And how well did that serve Malice or the old Matron Baenre? The more complicated, the more room for error," Yvonnel said. She was guarded here, even as she smiled and spoke in honey tones.

"The girl and not Xullae? Those priorities seem misplaced."

"She will not be a girl forever, and Xullae is easily handled if one knows what makes her tick," the cleric said. Her hand fell to her hip, expression speaking of displeasure as her fist rested so close to the handle of her snake whip. "I do not normally tolerate so many questions from a male."

"But you do now because I am an artist," Ryld said, watching her just as carefully as she regarded him. "She trusts me, it is true. And that gives me the edge one needs against a wilder. But what, I wonder, is in this for me?"

"Aside from the favor of the Spider Queen's Church?" Yvonnel asked with a scowl as he stood up.

"Perhaps you mistake me for a child," he said smoothly. "I put little stock in favors. I have come to prefer less...nebulous rewards." The male drow was closer than she'd realized by the time she blinked, his claw-like hand gesturing only inches away. "I am not a pretty male, but I still have a certain need-"

She almost cringed away from him, stomach churning slightly at where she thought he was going. "In your-"

"Ah ah. Let me finish. You may find it more to your taste by the time I am finished," he said, chuckling a little. "I am not pretty, but I always have a certain need of coin. My vocation is an expensive one. Bribes to pay, people to hire, information that needs a particular golden key to release it from the bonds of memory. Arrange a more reliable supply than the strictly official Church coffers, and you will have no reason to complain about my services."

Yvonnel had to admit, she was relieved. Few things could make her lose her composure, but Ryld was enough to make a goblin vomit. She harbored a suspicion that he enjoyed the reaction he elicited. "This I think I can arrange. But should you not follow through on your agreement, the flow will dry up abruptly."

"Should I not follow through, Revered Yvonnel, you will have larger problems than gold," the ugly male said. He held out his twisted claw. "A bargain?"

"Agreed," the priestess said, pointedly looking at his hand instead of touching it with her own, as if insisting that he remove the offending appendage from her sight.

* * *

><p><strong><em>qu'essan - <em>"princess"**


	4. A Lesson on Swords

**Author's Note:** **Thank you very much for reviews and keeping tabs on the story. Feedback is always very much appreciated-it's what keeps writers from running everything through the shredder. **

* * *

><p>"I expect better!"<p>

Sabal leapt out of the way of the hurled spell like an acrobat, rolling as she hit the stone floor and coming up neatly on her feet. It had been years since she was taken from the House of Abandonment now, and she was finally into her adolescence. Her actual age was impossible for Xullae to pin down precisely, not that it really mattered.

"If Elerra here wasn't as lazy or incompetent, you'd be dead by now," Xullae continued from the sidelines, arms crossed sternly. "You cannot simply flee the entire time. Incapacitate your opponent as quickly as possible."

The aforementioned priestess looked less than happy about the evasion and following commentary as she readied her next spell, this one promising to be even more vicious. However, her target had vanished. Perhaps a pillar was hiding her? Elerra scowled and blinked, allowing her eyes to change into the spectrum of heat. "Playing the coward, are we?" the priestess mocked, advancing.

There was no color when the priestess used this vision, only shades of gray. But she could see faint shadows of where her quarry had passed, the heat hanging in the air or pressed against the stone.

Ahead of her sweeping gaze, Sabal shot up the far side of the stone pillar, fingers scraping for holds in the small cracks and irregularities of the spiderweb designs. She slid her narrow body up into one of the arches and poised herself for a leap at the priestess, biding her time and praying that Elerra would continue not to look up.

Robes swishing softly as she moved, the cleric stepped across from one large floor stone to the other, moving within reach. It was all the girl needed. Sabal pushed free from the edge without a word, slamming into Elerra's shoulders and knocking her off her feet. The wilder curled an arm around her foe's neck and twisted as she pulled back, using her bodyweight to keep the larger female from escaping the choke hold. It was hard to breath steadily after that drop, but she forced herself not to think about the ache in her knee from where it had struck the floor or the bruises that were forming on her hands.

"Less irritating," Xullae said, uncrossing her arms. She seemed thoughtful as she watched Elerra struggle vainly and begin to succumb to unconsciousness. "See? You will not always have a blade or the luxury of using your other abilities undetected."

Sabal cleared her mind, ignoring the scrapes of fingernails frantically clawing at her arm, searching for eyes. She had long ago learned, even before she met Xullae, that it was better never to turn your attention away from an opponent that still drew breath. "May I release her now?"

"Oh, yes," Xullae said, waving a hand as though she had forgotten about Elerra.

The amber-eyed wilder uncurled herself from the priestess, letting air return to Elerra's lungs with a sigh of relief. "I improve, at least," she insisted, looking to her mentor.

"Slowly," Xullae said with a slight inclination of her head. "But true."

Sabal felt the warm glow of pride in her chest. "So am I permitted to attend the Academy?"

"The weapons training will be good for you," the inquisitor said, watching Elerra slink off with murder in her eyes. "We are not done for the day, however. Fetch your blade. A free spar will do to finish this. I wish to measure your improvement. It has been some time."

The years had done little to change Sabal's mentor. The inquisitor wore her ivory hair a bit longer, but it was only a superficial change. The dark red eyes were as keen and intense as they had been that first day back in the House of Abandonment. It was in the student that time had worked its magic.

The scars from Sabal's childhood seemed more vivid now than they had been over her bony frame as a child, drawing long lines across her lithe frame. The back breaking chores and endless lessons had turned an emaciated figure into a lean, muscular fighter who could endure. Nothing about her was soft or pampered, like one would find in the great noble houses. Her white hair was loose and long, often coming into conflict with the feral amber eyes that had come into their own. The scars added sinister cast to a visage no longer child-like, curving just in time to avoid cruel lips pressed often into a stubborn line. She looked like what a faerie would fear a female drow to be. If there was beauty in Sabal's face, it was not a kind sort.

It was the appeal of power, of perfectly controlled and fluid movement, of a predator's grace. _She was made to be an inquisitor_, Xullae had said once to Ryld. _See how she thrills at the hunt?_

Sabal scooped up her blunted blade, turning back to her mentor. Few drow seemed to appreciate the bastard sword. Some insisted it was slow, but only because they did not know how to wield it. No words needed to be exchanged, each able to read preparation in each other's thoughts. Sabal struck one guard, Xullae another. And then the dance began.

Circling like great hunting cats, the two changed their postures and guards as they measured each other's weaknesses of form. But beyond the reach of an eye, the more desperate battle was already beginning. Two minds met like the winds of a typhoon, whirling and struggling as each tried to find any chink to exploit in the armor. It was always a perfect balance of the physical and the psionic. To forget one battle for the other meant loss, and such a failure would bring pain.

Xullae moved first, lashing out from a high guard at her student. But the response was immediate, the girl springing forward and to the side, bringing her blade down in a crooked strike at the inquisitor's wrist. The older drowess was forced to wind her hands up and parry so that the attack slid off her blade. Sabal stepped from one strike into the next, driving her blade up to pierce Xullae's face. It was a competition for the initiative and who could keep it the longest, hounding mercilessly. Why waste time on defense when your foe simply couldn't harm you because of the blade protruding from his skull? Blades clashed together, the shrill call of steel upon steel wafting out into the halls. Sabal had grown canny in her years here, her sword dancing from guard to guard, with the strikes a part of the natural transitions between them. Xullae, however, was no less skilled.

Sabal felt as though she were clawing blindly across the surface of her mentor's thoughts, barely keeping at bay the vicious probes into her mind. She could not simply batter her way into Xullae's thoughts like she might if her foe were even a fledgling psionic. She needed a weak spot...not that she had ever succeeded in piercing those defenses.

A sudden kick to the side of her knee momentarily distracted Sabal from her assault, making her stumble and bend forward to catch herself. As soon as she realized what was happening, she forced herself up despite the pain in her knee, narrowly avoiding another powerful blow to the chin. Sabal pivoted so she was next to Xullae and drove her pommel up into her instructor's jaw, returning the favor. But even as the inquisitor went floor-ward, she jerked Sabal down with her.

Swords were unhelpful on the ground, too long for good reach, but there were many parts of the body that did work: arms, legs, a head, hands, and feet. It was not a pretty fight on the ground, with blood and scratches, snarling and strikes coming from both participants about equally. Suddenly, it seemed less about training and more about survival.

But that sudden fear of death kicked Sabal into high gear. She freed herself from Xullae and kicked back away, focusing all of those emotions boiling up out of control into a narrow blade of thought and drove it against those walls.

For just a fraction of a second, she could have sworn she felt something start to give. And then the boot connected with her solar plexus.

She would have cursed him roundly, but her lungs had suddenly decided that they didn't need air. By the time Sabal had stopped gaping, Xullae's sword was pressed just below her eye. "You shouldn't allow yourself to be distracted by pain," the inquisitor said harshly.

Sabal bared her teeth up at the scarred male. "Bastard," she growled. "I would have won."

"I could have stabbed you, you know. Knife in the back trick is a classic," he said with a chuckle. The male drow did, however, offer her his good hand.

It looked for a second like she was contemplating biting it savagely, but instead Sabal slapped it away and got to her feet unsteadily, hand over her midsection. Her jaw and abdomen were both bruised along with every other part of her body. The fights she had with Xullae were rarely longer than a few minutes, usually because it didn't take that long for her mentor to soundly beat her into submission. "What do you want, Ryld?"

"Sulking is for clerics, _qu'essan._ Revered Yvonnel would like to see you at the next hour mark. I thought you might want to clean up," he said with a shrug. "Maybe heal up the bruises so it looks less like you block Xullae's blows with your face."

It always amused Ryld to watch the emotions play across the young wilder's face: first a hint of resentment, then apprehension, then tempered caution. "I will be there," Sabal promised before glancing over at Xullae. The inquisitor was frowning, but then again, when did she ever smile?

"Perfect," the male drow said brightly before sauntering out.

_What is this about? _Sabal asked her mentor, reaching out to touch the frigid surface of Xullae's mind. It always chilled her slightly, though that constant cold was also reassuring. It was safe, immutable.

_Any number of things. Perhaps she wishes to question you herself. All she knows of you has come from me. I have tried to prolong your isolation from the Church. If I am unforgiving, then they are utterly merciless. And it takes caution to deal with them. Your gift was uncontrolled. Your emotions were everywhere. You might have said what you truly thought. _Xullae's answer had hidden depths and Sabal could hear it. It was all the protection her mentor had been able to offer. A rare gift. There was no need for spoken words with their silent conversation, though it required concentration to keep it concealed from the many ears that were everywhere.

_You are apprehensive,_ Sabal noted. _Do you expect treachery?_

Xullae carefully returned their blunted weapons to the proper rack and dusted off her hands. _It is better to clear your mind of all expectations when approaching a priestess in her own web. Be willing to respond. This is only the beginning of the next part of your training, Sabal. There are many things only experience can teach. _

The amber-eyed drowess nodded slightly, internalizing this even as she went over to the basin in the corner and started wiping the blood from her chin and face where she had been scraped or cut. _Is there anything else I should understand?_

There was a long pause, the air heavy with things unspoken. _You are a tool, Sabal. An instrument for a purpose, be it the Spider Queen's or the Church's or Reverend Daughter Yvonnel's. If a person dies from a stab, is it the fault of the sword? No. It is the fault of the wielder, the hand that brings the weapon to bear. Perhaps this is not what you wish. Perhaps it is not what I might have wished. But take comfort in it, and learn to enjoy the purity of purpose._

_And what of choice?_ Sabal asked. There were many conflicting emotions in the question, many of which she did not even have a name for.

_A sword does not make a choice. It does not decide who lives or dies. It simply serves. Nor is a sword capable of mercy or compassion or trust. This is absolution. Take it now, when it is offered, and keep it with you always,_ Xullae said. There was more, so much more, to say. The difficulty was continuing. For the first time in years, Sabal saw that unnatural conflict begin to play its way across Xullae's features. _When you live as long as I have, you will understand._

Sabal bit back her arguments and bowed her head slightly. She knew when not to push her mentor.

_Yvonnel will expect you to attend upon her in the chapel. Conduct yourself as befits a female drow of your talent. You will need all of your guile to even maintain the same footing that you walked in with. An advantage is unlikely, but if you see one, seize upon it. _

_You can rely on me, Xullae,_ the wilder said almost meekly, earning a brief, hard look of veiled surprise from her mentor.

And then in just a breath, things were normal again. _Very well. And remember, Sabal, any food may be poison. _


	5. Meeting Yvonnel

Sabal stepped into the temple and a world of dizzying sensations. The darkness felt overpowered with heat from the many burning braziers, the thick and incense-laden smoke driving her pulse faster. She felt echoes everywhere around her of _need._ The desires were overwhelming, pulling at her mind, whispers from only an hour before singing shadow promises into her ears. The images were powerful even if they were indistinct, the siren call of a divine power she had never experienced stirring her blood.

The wilder shuddered, stepping out of the main area of the temple and into a series of side rooms where priestesses tended to conduct their meetings in privacy. The feeling was just as thick here, almost as suffocating as the incense.

"Revered Yvonnel?" she called, raising a hand as if to brush away the phantom fingers that were reaching out to her.

"And here is the girl herself," a voice answered with pleasant humor from one of the side alcoves. "Come. I have words for you."

The amber-eyed drowess obeyed. If she had learned anything from her time with Xullae, it was to give her unquestioning obedience to all priestesses...just not necessarily her loyalty.

Yvonnel was a figure of elegant lines, skin smooth and wholly without flaws. Her robe was loosely closed as she leaned back on a silk-covered couch, calculating eyes hooded. It was the air of someone relaxed, so confident and comfortable in their power that they felt no need to posture. The priestess had her legs crossed and her arms loose behind her head. "Have a seat, Sabal. Would you like a drink?"

With a little motion of one hand, a collared bugbear moved forward with a pitcher of wine and a glass. Sabal shook her head, frowning slightly. The creature seemed oddly docile even as the flesh of its neck bulged slightly around the studded collar. It had been well trained, she presumed. Most drow had at least one slave to attend to their various needs—even Sabal had grown with someone else seeing to her laundry and cooking meals. It made sense when Xullae explained it to her. Inquisitors were meant to fight and root out heresy. That required their time be focused upon training, not menial tasks. When she was younger, of course, that had lead her to ponder why she ended up scrubbing so many floors. Best not to ask such a thing aloud within earshot of her mentor, of course.

"Very goal oriented, aren't you? Just like Xullae," Yvonnel said, studying the wilder intently from beneath lazy lids. It was damn near impossible to read the girl. Even if one could divine emotion in her face, it was such a faint, constantly shifting thing that it was hard to guess how she would act. But one expected a wilder to be so difficult to predict at first. And she was quiet, just like Xullae. Yvonnel was used to priestesses who adored the sound of their own voice. "I like that. Let us, then, speak of practicality. You are no doubt unaware of the expense it costs to educate a student at the Academies. A houseless girl scraped up off the streets with not a drop of noble blood is a risky investment for the Church. We have no evidence to prove you will be useful."

The frown returned. "My training with Xullae is insufficient," Sabal said.

_She's picked up her mentor's habit of saying questions as statements, I see. _Yvonnel wasn't certain whether to be irritated or amused. She settled for a small smile. "Correct. So we require a...demonstration of your potential. If I am satisfied that the Church can expect results, your attendance will be arranged."

"What would you have done?" the wilder said quietly.

"The Eyes have found a weak link among the clergy, a priestess consorting with the enemies of the Spider Queen. You are to find her, identify her accomplices, and purge the weakness," Yvonnel said. She smiled slightly. "The task, however, becomes somewhat more complicated. Firstly, she is hiding among the upper echelons of House Baenre. She is not a noble, but she is highly thought of and is a talented cleric. Secondly, you are not an inquisitor and so you have none of the protections that come with your station. If you are caught before you bring this information back to the Church, you will likely die in a very slow, very unpleasant way."

Sabal was quiet for a moment before finally venturing, "And if I refuse?"

Yvonnel's smile was lupine. "Is there an if?"

"No, Revered Yvonnel," Sabal said quietly. "The target's name?"

"Nhilae Arkenndar. Oh, and you might find this useful," the priestess said, tossing her a small, slightly twitching bag.

The amber-eyed drowess tugged it open to examine the thumb-sized spider moving about. Sabal gently reached in and stroked the frustrated spider with a finger, coarse hairs brushing against her skin. It was a beautiful little thing, a soft sable black with a dusting of fur and lighter colored hairs around the joints of its legs. She knew it was undoubtedly very venomous, but not once in her many years of gently sweeping around cobwebs had she ever been bitten. "Thank you, Revered Yvonnel," she said, studying the creature's graceful climb onto the back of her hand. "May I leave?"

"Certainly. You have much work to do," Yvonnel said with a casual wave. She watched the girl leave, counting softly in her head until Sabal was well out of earshot. "I think that went rather well."

Ryld melted out of the stone and deftly removed the ring that had allowed him to do that, placing it in Yvonnel's palm. It was borrowed. "The incense was a good thought. I saw no recognition of my presence. That said, are you certain it's wise to send her after Nhilae? Triel won't like that kind of thing happening under her own roof."

"Matron Baenre can't be angry if she doesn't know. If the girl's caught, she deserves it," Yvonnel said with a shrug.

"Xullae will be displeased. She has put years of training and preparation into Sabal. Decades of her life have gone towards grooming this girl to be another inquisitor. I would hate to be in her reach when she finds out how you risk Sabal," Ryld cautioned. He inwardly rolled his eyes. Priestesses and their endless desire to push the buttons of everyone else around them. Half of this was probably some scheme of Yvonnel's to finally make their sullen inquisitor explode into a fit of real emotion.

"If it was worthwhile, she won't fail. And speaking of Xullae, something will have to be done about her," Yvonnel mused. A little glimmer appeared in her eyes. "Later, of course. She still has her uses."

"I respectfully question the wisdom of moving against her," Ryld said. "Even if she is no priestess, Xullae has sway. The other inquisitors look to her. The Yath'Abban do as well."

"Not enough to defy the church. And her compatriots are shells, leashed on drugs and magic. Even if they were able to comprehend her absence, they wouldn't have the will to do anything. We cannot have them loose. It is dangerous, and we have learned this the hard way. I am no psionic, but I can read Xullae well enough through her actions. Our inquisitor wants Sabal at the Academy so she is away from the Church. So she learns what freedom is and knows when it is taken from her. A little rebellion, perhaps, but not an insignificant one," Yvonnel said coolly. "They will remember their place by the time this is at an end. You may take your leave as well, Ryld."

* * *

><p>After years of running errands, Sabal knew the streets well. Life pulsed around her in dizzying waves of consciousness upon consciousness. But she had learned to wall it out, to think of only her goal. She circulated through the crowded streets to House Baenre's compound, passing unremarked without the authority of Xullae. Still, she always seemed to have just enough space, some of the energy that threatened to overpower her sometimes escaping to form an invisible cloud around her body. It was powerful enough to make people feel an odd sort of discomfort, an emotional upset.<p>

Sabal was patient. It was a virtue few drow possessed, even if it was invaluable. Without knowing Nhilae, there was no way to pick her out of a crowd. So instead, she gently searched the minds of Baenre soldiers, hunting for a little flash of that name and the person attached as she browsed market stalls out in the street aimlessly or wandered past their posts. Being seen didn't matter, because no one really looked hard. She was just another average female drow, only without the distinction of being a cleric.

The better part of four hours went by before she had enough to recognize a face. Nhilae Arkenndar was a tall, pretty drowess with long silver hair. She was broader at her bust and hips than Sabal by far, easily marked because of the strange rings she wore. Those bore more investigating. It was enough information for Sabal to return home and begin planning how to go about this business. A straightforward approach would only get her killed. This required cunning, subtlety.

She dodged a frowning Ryld in the halls of the barracks, nodding slightly to him. His expression only seemed to deepen slightly when he returned her nod. But the agile, predatory part of Sabal was too busy to pay him much heed.


	6. A Lesson on Lovers

"You know, there are some things Xullae hasn't taught you," Ryld said conversationally, snapping Sabal out of her private thoughts. "But that you should probably learn before the Academy."

It was a delicate game the male was playing now. He couldn't risk Sabal dying while he was easily held culpable—if she did, Yvonnel would know doubt throw him to Xullae so something would pacify the inquisitor's fury. But he also had to be oblique enough about his help that Yvonnel didn't find out and skin him. Females made life so complicated sometimes.

The girl set her sword down and looked up at him with a hint of confusion in those amber eyes. As much as she snapped and spat at Ryld, they had an understanding. Her normal mood towards him was a sort of warm indifference. But she was if nothing else attentive, usually more than willing to listen to what he had to say. "Like what?" Sabal asked cautiously, twisting the sand paper in her fingers. She had been carefully brushing out the little metal splinters struck up whenever a blade hit hers.

Ryld chuckled and took a seat. "Remember those stories I told you? You're older now. People are going to look at you differently, and you can use that to your advantage."

The hesitation in her face was charming, a last indication of youthful innocence. Sabal, so well trained in many of the arts Xullae knew best, had a long way to go. "I don't want a lover, Ryld. I have few enough hours each cycle as it is," she said.

_Wise girl,_ he reflected mildly, hearing the wariness in every word. She'd live a longer life if she could keep that natural caution. "It's not about that," the male drow said, taking a seat on the floor near her. "You're thinking of it as though it were something in its own right—true enough with a consort. But when have you ever seen an inquisitor with one off those?"

The amber-eyed girl frowned. "You mean use it as a tool?"

"Precisely. What other way is there to get someone to willingly take you to a private place, past all their defenses, and remove their weapons? Drow do not like to trust, but they will take risks if they feel the reward is greater. I'll at least teach you how to give someone that impression for now," Ryld said with a chuckle. He hadn't always been so disfigured, after all—these were skills well honed.

"And what do you get out of it?" Sabal asked, tone calculating. He almost grinned. Xullae had taught her well.

"You take care of Nhilae Arkenndar. Don't look so surprised, _qu'essan_, I'm an Eye. My business is knowing things. Besides, who do you think ferreted her secret out in the first place?" the disfigured male drow said with a low, rasping chuckle. It wasn't a completely honest answer, of course, but he did skirt around a fabrication that would only be caught by her psionics. It was an art, really.

"Her defenses are powerful," Sabal reluctantly acknowledged. "House Baenre's even more formidable. And her bodyguards are more than I could handle."

Ryld grinned. "You see?"

"And how do you know that her attention could be caught?" the girl asked pointedly.

"_Qu'essan_, you have to understand how the minds of powerful people work. A conquest is about so much more than attraction, which is easily cultivated. It's about power, prestige, control. Your job is just to convince a mark you're what they want. Priestesses at the pinnacle of their authority can have any male they want. There's no challenge and no need to exercise their own personal power when their status does all the work for them. So they turn their eyes to other game," Ryld explained.

Sabal made a slight face. "I don't like being touched."

The male drow laughed. "That's because the only touches you get are being thrown halfway across the training gym, _qu'essan. _Besides, you don't have to like it if you can hide it. Use that will of yours, and you'll even be able to keep a clear head. And trust me, that's half the battle."

The young drowess arched her eyebrow delicately at him, an expression so like Xullae's usual demonstration of skepticism that it stunned him. "I'll need to know this at the Academy?"

"Absolutely, _qu'essan._ It's as much self defense and a weapon as that sword you're so attentive to," Ryld said, this time with an unshakable certainty. If she went there as oblivious as she was now, she wouldn't last five days. Honestly, Xullae could be blindingly stupid about certain things. Had it never occurred to her that the sheltered world of duty and obligation that Sabal lived in wouldn't last forever? She wasn't a child anymore.

"Alright," she said with a sigh, returning the sword to its sheath. "Teach me, then."

* * *

><p>The ice had melted, if only for a moment. Xullae's dark red eyes were closed, hand resting against the flat plane of a chest. If she moved her fingers just a little bit, they would brush over a long, knotted scar. Nothing outside this room, this world mattered. Breathing in tandem with her own, the familiar warmth against the length of her body, sheets tangled around them both...<p>

"I missed this," Dhauntyrr whispered in her ear, his arms holding her in a loose embrace. It was too much to hope for that they could steal more than a few hours. He felt her shift slightly, lips touching his shoulder in a soundless expression of affection.

_I missed you._ She rarely spoke aloud when it was just the two of them, her mind brushing delicately against his to voice her thoughts. _So long...I was worried I would forget all of this. Forget the little things. __You are so handsome.  
><em>

There was a little smile at the rare and very simple compliment. So very much like Xullae. He covered her hand with his own rough one, holding it to his chest against the scar. She could feel the gentle, insistent rhythm of his heart beneath his sternum. There were new scars, yes, and she had given them her attention. But it was to this old one that she was always drawn, running horizontally across his chest. A mark from a battle that seemed centuries ago, a memory of that terrible moment she had almost thought him gone. But it was also a treasured recollection of everything that had been said that day. Things only a madwoman would say.

If anyone knew folly, it was Xullae. But to stop? It had never been an option.

_I hate having to share you, to let go of you. Every time I see the marks she has left, all I can think of is driving my blade into her heart._

"Xullae," he whispered with a little shake of his head, pressing a kiss against her white hair. "You would die. I do not wish that."

_At least I would be doing something. If I had—_

"No," Dhauntyrr said quietly, angular features firm as he looked down at her. He was handsome for even a male drow, slim and muscular with a chiseled face and a bearing that spoke of strength. His frame was no longer perfect, of course, not after all the battles he had survived. "It was never your choice, never your fault_._"

He felt her muscles tense slightly, her fingers curl into a fist against his palm. _I have nothing they cannot take from me. _

"You have this," he soothed, pressing her hand to his lips. "This is ours. It will always be ours."

The inquisitor sighed, shifting close to him and relaxing as his other hand stroked along the curve of her spine. _It is difficult._

"You were never content unless you were chasing something just out of reach."

Her eyes opened, looking at him with only the slightest hint of reproach. _I could be content with this._

"As could I, _ussta ssin,_" Dhauntyrr said, giving her hand another kiss. "But Triel would not be." The dark look on Xullae's face indicated exactly what she thought of Triel, but she maintained her silence, allowing him to unfold her hand and leave yet more soft kisses on her fingertips. "Once, I thought female drow could do anything they wanted."

_Would that I had such choices. It would not be stolen glances, secret promises, and meetings in the darkness. _Xullae paused for a long moment, turning her face towards the window. Narbondel's light was just beginning to creep in through the heavy curtains. _Our time is passing swiftly._ It pained her even to think it.

"Soon," Dhauntyrr promised. "I will see you again soon."

They dressed in a silence that was almost painfully thick, clothes that had been pulled off in such a hurry now slowly returning to their proper places. Armor was donned just as carefully, as if somehow they could prolong the moments. Suddenly, the closeness that was so intoxicating earlier felt painful, because they were brutally aware of how soon it would have to end and be replaced by manufactured distance.

Xullae was the one to bridge the gap, curling her arms around him from behind and pressing her lips to his armored shoulder. _I will hold my thoughts of you until I see you again. _

He smiled a little, hands covering hers. "Soon." It was what he always repeated over and over, a promise to himself as much as her. With Xullae, he was safe. All his life, he had been taught such a thought was foolish. But Dhauntyrr had seen into her thoughts—a gift of trust. Words could be a deception. But that? No. Perhaps that was why Xullae did not speak until their time together was at an end.

_Soon,_ she echoed, letting go of him reluctantly. The drowess combed her fingers through her long hair, then gently brushed his into its usual loose order. Having it short allowed him to leave it just a bit messy.

Dhauntyrr pulled her back, holding her tight against his chest as if he was trying to leave a burning imprint of her in his skin. It was a kiss both of them dreaded and needed at the same time, a goodbye. No words were spoken again until they were out into the street, almost losing each other in the hustle and bustle of normal traffic.

He bowed to her, curtly and stiffly. "Thank you, Honored Xullae. Perhaps I will see you again in the near future?"

"As is required, Patron," Xullae said, returning the gesture. She watched him go, the center of her chest as cold as a midwinter night. And yet, at the heart a flame flickered.

_Soon._

* * *

><p><strong> <em>ussta ssin -<em>****my beauty  
><strong>


	7. The First Question

"Are you well, Xullae?" Sabal asked softly, stirring from where she'd fallen asleep on the divan with a book.

Her lesson with Ryld was uncomfortable, to say the least, even when he tried his best. Even with the years of relative safety under Xullae's care, the girl had difficulty consenting to touch. But they had at least discussed how to posture, how to draw interest and deflect it, and reading people. She'd retired back here to read up on the magical wards she'd observed at House Baenre in the hopes of finding a way to circumvent them.

And now here was Xullae, brooding with dark eyes as she paced back and forth with the grace and frustration of a great hunting cat feeling the confines of its too-small cage. Underneath the cold demeanor, Sabal could sense the hot coals of a deep and long-abiding rage.

"I hate this place," the inquisitor said quietly, her icy tones sharp and polished. Her dark red eyes gleamed in the soft lights of the city visible through the window. "I feel it around me, suffocating me. I taste freedom for a moment, and then it is torn away."

Sabal cocked her head slightly. "Menzoberranzan is our home, Xullae."

"I know." Normally rigid shoulders slumped slightly, almost as if in defeat. The amber-eyed drowess shifted to make room on the divan without a thought as Xullae moved towards her, allowing her mentor to take a seat. Something in the inquisitor seemed unfocused at the moment, her hands restlessly brushing across the couch's spider-silk covering.

"Xullae?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you know who my mother was?" Sabal asked quietly.

It was a question Xullae always knew would come up, of course. But the girl hadn't said a word about it since the House of Abandonment. The distant, abstract idea of where she had come from seemed irrelevant when it came to things like training. She had always just accepted matters, as if tentative that too much prying would land her back in that place. The inquisitor hadn't been quite prepared tonight. "Sabal..."

"I was just thinking," the girl said, her arms crossing to guard her torso. One hand came up to her neck, to touch the small amulet she wore as if for reassurance. "I don't really remember anything before the House of Abandonment. Maybe I was always there. Yvonnel mentioned the fact that I am houseless, that I have no family. It made me think of what they would be like."

A soft sigh tumbled from Xullae's lips, pulling with it a blanket of silence. For a long time, Xullae just sat there and looked down at the stony floor, gathering her thoughts. "It is a world of pain you walk towards," the inquisitor said. She turned slightly towards Sabal, thoughts still encased in that icy armor. "One day, when your training is finished and you have taken your vows, the option to know will be open to you."

"You did not answer my question." The observation was quick, just as she had been trained.

"No, I did not," Xullae said, rising from her seat. "I do not lie to you, Sabal. False hope is crueler than none at all. But some things are better given to silence."

Sabal's temper flared and she sat up in an instant, swinging her legs over the side of the divan. "You always do this! Why won't you tell me? Am I still too young?"

"It is too late at night for this, Sabal," the inquisitor said, steel returning to her voice. "Go to sleep."

"Not until I have an answer!" The younger drowess's emotions were always extreme, but this time not without cause. Ever since she met with Yvonnel, the thoughts had been gnawing away at her every time she lay down to rest.

The sudden explosion of psionic energy from Xullae took her aback, several pieces of delicate glassware along the wall shattering into a cascade of glittering shards. "_This is not a game,_" the inquisitor hissed coldly, both with her voice and her mind.

_Tell me!_ Sabal pushed back, her hands curling into tight fists. She was angry. How could her training not be enough? Why did her blood seem to haunt her everywhere she went? Yvonnel was forcing her to prove herself just because she had no house, no proper family. And Xullae had to keep everything a damn secret, even when it would make a difference to the Church.

_What do you want to hear, Sabal? _Xullae was struggling to keep herself under control. She wasn't a wilder—emotions would only cripple her. _Do you know why you were in the House of Abandonment? Because of this! They fear whatever they don't understand. And what drow fear, they hate. They knew what you were from the moment you were born! It couldn't be hidden! You weren't what they wanted. You were something else._

_They wouldn't have thrown me away! _The amber-eyed drowess's resolve was wavering even as the maelstrom inside of her grew. It had always been true: for better or for worse, Xullae had never lied to her. And somehow that made it worse. She'd tried so hard to please, to earn her place. But suddenly it felt like the whole deck was stacked against her.

_What, out of affection? You are nothing to them. And they are nothing to you. Inquisitors will always have only each other. No one else will ever understand.  
><em>

_I didn't do anything wrong!_

"No, you didn't. They did," Xullae said, her voice softening slightly as she felt the surge of pain. Xullae had never been the most reassuring person, and so it was a silent understanding she offered beneath her words. "Rest. Tomorrow, Yvonnel expects you to prove yourself."

When sleep finally claimed Sabal, it was with the bitter taste still lingering in her mouth.


	8. A Lesson on Killing

Ryld stroked his uneven chin thoughtfully with his good hand, leaning on the polished stone table where he'd been eating his breakfast. The Yath'Abban's barracks included a room for general meals, though it was now deserted as usual. "Her rings contain powerful protective enchantments, at least one of which is against psionics. You're going to have to hit hard and fast, _qu'essan_."

Sabal nodded a little, buckling on her armor. "I expected that," she said, coolly. Her emotions were still in turmoil from her argument with Xullae. The inquisitor herself was absent, conveniently called out of the city to a small skirmish out in the tunnels.

"It is a dangerous move, attacking in the Fane itself. But bold. If you succeed, Yvonnel will approve. However, the risk is high," Ryld said cautiously.

"I will have the element of surprise. That is worth something," the girl said, buckling on her sword belt.

Ryld raised an eyebrow for a moment. This was not a Sabal he was used to. So far she had been hesitant about this endeavor, cautious. Now reckless seemed a more appropriate word. Like she had something to prove.

"Well, if you pull this off, I think everyone will be impressed," the scarred male drow said finally. He frowned slightly at the little flash on Sabal's hand. "Where'd you get that little trinket?"

"Xullae gave it to me some time ago. I don't usually wear it. Magic gives me a headache," she said with a sharp, almost feral grin.

"A ring of invisibility? You've grown up fast. I imagine it doesn't last too long," Ryld said with a little bit of a chuckle.

"Long enough."

"And you are ready to kill?" he pressed, acid-marred features twisting slightly. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. "This is not a training battle, Sabal. You will bring someone to their end. It is not going to be pretty. If you hesitate, you will die."

Sabal thought back upon her training matches with Xullae. She had learned not to pull her blows. To fight as though her life was on the line. And then there were those words. _A sword does not make a choice. It does not decide who lives or dies. _"Nhilae is already dead. She has been since the moment she betrayed the Goddess. I am only settling the matter."

Ryld's features contorted into an uneven grin. "Good girl, _qu'essan_. You have learned well from Xullae. Someday, you will be an inquisitor to be feared."

* * *

><p>Yvonnel watched everything around her like a hawk as she stood at the altar near Nhilae, a silent assistant as the first ritual prayers began. Soon enough, a sacrifice would be drug in, but until then she had time to gather her thoughts. At least, for a moment.<p>

_Heretic..._

The thought was a whisper in the thoughts of every priestess in the Fane, sending shivers up and down spines. Even Yvonnel froze for a moment before looking around. Nhilae stumbled over the words of the prayer and then lost her place, immediately pausing to twist one of her rings slightly on her finger and whisper an enchantment.

"Who dares intrude?" Nhilae barked, pivoting. "You-"

Everyone felt the sudden shift an instant before raw power seemed to explode from nowhere, flinging Nhilae against the altar and others to the ground. Yvonnel's head was ringing even as she tried to right herself. She had been around Xullae once in a battle, but this was beyond that. She was for a moment so terrifyingly aware of how fragile her body was, like a spider's web in the winds of a summoned gale.

Yvonnel sprang up and fell into a casting position, watching Nhilae clamber to her feet. The ring that she had used to protect herself was blistered and half destroyed, bubbling as it fused with the bone and flesh beneath it. The smell of seared tissue was a quick wake up call to the danger for the Reverend Daughter beside their traitor priest, however.

_Does your Masked Lord protect you here, I wonder? Or are you putting your faith in House Baenre? They already have found the roots of your treachery. Soon they will know everything. _

Nhilae glanced over her shoulder towards the darkening face of Triel Baenre and felt a shock of fear. If she confronted this accuser, it would be alone. And even if she won, she was going to be in one hell of a fix. But her confidence had carried her this far.

She looked back into feral amber eyes. A drowess, albeit a fairly young one, had seemingly materialized less than ten feet from her, blade already drawn. Beside her, there was a sharp and easily audible exhale from Yvonnel, who relaxed out of her casting stance. Nhilae hurled a bolt of crackling dark energy straight at her assailant who barely got out of the way in time, earning burns across one arm.

Sabal sprang like a cat, blade whipping up towards her foe's face. The parry from the dagger was feeble, but Nhilae managed to twist out of the way. Now the dance had begun, powerful divine magic trying desperately to disable the wilder who continued on despite everything thrown at her. Sabal was certainly not proof against the magic that was leveled against her, but she had come prepared after years of training.

Nhilae's grace shot was another bolt that scorched across Sabal's cheek, narrowly missing an amber eye. For a second, the wilder flinched back out of her assault, just enough to buoy Nhilae's confidence. It was not, however, enough to save her from the psionic strike that disabled her for just a split second. The amber-eyed girl twisted her hands and thrust from a high guard, point biting into ribs and slicing through bone with the force of a whole trained body behind it. Curses bubbled to Nhilae's lips, her hands glowing with withering energy as she grabbed for Sabal. The fingers that closed around the girl's arms burned, but did little beyond that. Most of the damage was soaked up by the extra pieces of armor from Ryld.

Blood was everywhere, on the blade, gushing out onto the altar. It looked black here in the low light of the braziers. Sabal wrenched back, her weapon sliding free neatly. The blood only came faster now, and she did the only thing she could think of. Sabal walled off her own mind, forcing herself to create distance as the mind she had been so close to for a few moments started to fade away with the sound of blood spreading across grooved stones.

"I suppose this has saved me some work," Matron Triel said, pulling herself up to her full height which was still markedly shorter than most of the other female drow in the room. She had done her best to compensate within House Baenre's compound itself, but here in the Church her less than impressive stature was obvious.

Yvonnel looked impressed despite herself. "You completed the task I set to you. Very good. Perhaps you would care to surrender the evidence here to the Church?"

Sabal wiped off her blade without looking at the body and then restored it to its sheath. As if on autopilot, she removed the sealed envelope from inside her armor with care, surrendering it to Yvonnel in silence. The culmination of all that careful preparation had been so fast that the young drowess felt a little stunned despite herself. _Don't look at it. She would have killed you anyway. You did the right thing._

"You may go," Yvonnel said with a thin smile. "It seems you are worth the investment."

Sabal made it all the way back to the barracks of the Yath'Abban before being sick into a basin, her limbs trembling uncontrollably. She was still kneeling down and clinging to it in a haze when someone came in. No words were exchanged. Someone pulled Sabal up and gently wiped her face clean with a soft, damp cloth. She passed into nightmarish sleep, lulled only by the soothing hand stroking her hair.

* * *

><p>"Amber eyes?" Quenthel said quietly, studying Triel's face. The two sisters had come together to confer upon the sudden absence of a powerful cleric in their House. It was always a cautious thing for them to meet, a pair of apex predators trapped in the same room. The game they played was subtle posturing, constantly measuring and evaluating for threats.<p>

"Unmistakably so," the Matron of House Baenre said dryly. "You seem remarkably unconcerned about Nhilae's betrayal."

The Mistress of Arach'Tinilith rolled her shoulders in a loose shrug, fingers drumming a thoughtful rhythm on the surface of the elegant table between them. "We can always find another. Clearly she wasn't particularly useful."

"Didn't you know a male once with amber eyes?" Triel probed, watching her younger sister's expression with a patient care.

Quenthel arched an eyebrow delicately. "You expect me to remember them now? Perhaps. I cannot recall. It is an uncommon eye color, but not a particularly rare one."

"Yet it was the first question you had for me." Triel's counter was effortless.

"It merely seemed an odd detail for you to include. Still, clearly we will have to keep an eye on this one. I will not have Yvonnel parading this wilder around as her knife up the sleeve," the Mistress of Arach'Tinilith said. She was about as transparent as a block of granite, unfortunately for her older sister. Still, the Matron filed it away for future reference, banking on the fact that Quenthel wasn't telling her everything.


	9. Farewell

Sabal opened her amber eyes, fevered limbs tangled up with cool sheets. She could vaguely hear the normal, routine movements of Xullae in the other room—muffled footsteps and the clatter of dishes being set down carelessly on the table. It had been a week since she'd killed Nhilae. It seemed strange to the girl how little had changed.

Whenever it was brought up, Xullae simply repeated to Sabal that it had been necessary. That it was right. That made it easier to swallow the feeling and push it back. Most of her life had been conditioning for that very purpose, after all. She had been prepared. And as Xullae confided, it would become easier. Perhaps that was the worst part about it.

There was a soft knock on her half open door, and then it gave way to reveal the armored figure of her mentor. "Sabal, up. You'll be leaving today."

She sighed, nodding slightly despite herself. "I do not wish to," Sabal admitted, sensing those dark red eyes focused on her.

"It is often an uncomfortable experience to leave what is known," Xullae said. The inquisitor leaned against the door frame, studying her student. "But this will be a chance to discover for yourself who you are, before you take your place among us."

Sabal swung out of bed, plucking at the loose shirt she was wearing. The traces of cold sweat still lingered and she looked forward to a warm bath. "And after that I will take my vows?" she asked idly, picking up clean and folded clothes.

"Yes, just as others return to houses to take their places. But I would not rush it if I were you. There is much to come between now and then," the inquisitor said. "We will speak more over food."

The amber-eyed girl nodded, padding out through the halls to the baths. They were mostly empty, save for a few Dread Fangs she recognized and Ryld. However, there was nothing particularly uncomfortable for a drow about being undressed, even around the opposite gender. Sabal was confident and comfortable in her own skin, untroubled even by her scars. After all, she was no soft priestess. She shed her clothes and tossed them aside, nodding slightly to Ryld before sinking into the water. Soap and warmth scrubbed everything away, soothing muscles even as it allowed her mind to wander freely.

It was the fact that she didn't feel guilty that unnerved her. After she'd been sick and spent one night tossing and turning, her mind appeared to be moving on already. Was that normal? Was it wrong? Sabal supposed it was expected, but it still surprised her. Even though violence had come to her almost thoughtlessly for much of her life—it had been necessary to survive—killing someone seemed too easy. But she was a drow. Ryld sometimes mentioned how the faeries up on the surface might hesitate to strike a wounded foe, resolve faltering. What was it that made them stay their hand?

Sabal remembered Xullae once speaking of how she would strike down particularly clever or daring foes instead of dragging them back to the Spider Queen's altar for a torturous death. _I know what it is to be a prisoner,_ the inquisitor had said quietly before shrugging. It was also a little token of respect for those who had defied the Church, another way to push back against priestesses. That, Sabal understood. Xullae had always taught her to be quick and clean in all of her battles. Inflicting suffering was not important. An end was all that mattered.

She dunked her head and finished scrubbing before hauling herself out of the stone pool, banishing all of these thoughts. They were hardly important in the grand scheme of things.

"Ready to cause trouble at the Academy, _qu'essan_?" Ryld said, tossing a towel to her. He'd already finished and dried off, wrapping his own towel around his waist as he relaxed. The male drow's chest was just as deformed as his hand and face, the scars of acid burns running all the way down his side to stop only at the joint where his leg met his hip.

"If it comes to it," the young drowess said with an absent nod, pulling on her clothes when she was a bit damp still.

"After Xullae's lessons, it'll feel as easy as breathing," Ryld assured her casually, rubbing his claw-like hand so that it would relax a little bit. He was always stiff after he first rose. "She has always pushed you hard."

"Hard enough."

The male drow chuckled dryly. "You're talkative this morning, _qu'essan_. If I didn't know any better, I'd say nerves were getting the better of you." Ryld was answered by a cold glare as Sabal finished pulling her clean shirt on. He'd seen a remarkably similar expression on Xullae many times. It only multiplied his amusement. "We'll make a basilisk of you yet, _qu'essan._"

Breakfast with Xullae was better, a quiet affair just like normal with plain, but filling food and the soft murmurings the inquisitor always made when she read a book at the table. Sabal was grateful for the feeling of normalcy, sinking into her chair and basking a little bit in the comfortable silence. It sometimes seemed like the closest the pair of them came all day.

"Elerra brought over a new set of armor for you," Xullae said without looking up from the pages, fingers curled around her unadorned cup full of hot, mulled wine. "We should adjust the fittings before she returns to take you to the Academy."

"You're not going to come?"

The inquisitor's eyes flickered away from the words, glancing at her student. "I have duties."

Sabal swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat and nodded. She should have expected nothing less from her mentor. "I am finished, if you are ready to look at the armor," the girl said instead, rising from her chair.

"I am." Xullae lead the way out into the training room where Sabal's new armor had been laid out.

It was nicer than anything she had ever owned, that she was certain of as soon as she'd laid eyes on it. Dark leather reinforced with scalemail, the armor barely made a sound when she picked it up. The mithril had been carefully smoked so it wouldn't reflect in the darkness and had been inlaid with spiderweb patterns of adamantium. Sabal buckled it on reverently and then ran her hands over the blood red sash that had been set next to it. Every cycle she could remember since the day Xullae found her, Sabal had watched the inquisitor wind her own sash at her waist with careful dedications, bearing it as a symbol of her status. The girl mimicked the movements from memory, twisting and wrapping the cloth until it came together in a final knot.

"You look like a proper initiate now," Xullae commented, studying her student. "How does it fit?"

"Very well," Sabal said, face breaking out into an almost giddy smile. "The padding is nice. Maybe it won't hurt as badly next time Ryld kicks me while I'm on the ground." It offered almost no resistance as she bent and moved, the weight lighter than she had expected. There was some stiffness to the joints, of course, but that would be broken in by the end of a week or two if she practiced at normal intensity.

"Give me your sword."

The girl looked up at her mentor, puzzlement in her amber eyes. "I was going to take that with me."

"Use it against a proper blade and it will shatter. The steel is not good enough," Xullae said sternly as Sabal obediently surrendered the her sword. "Here."

It was the battle blade Xullae carried. The sword hilt was unpolished mithril, a single piece of onyx set into the round pommel. The rayskin grip was worn, but not overly so—in battle, even when wet or covered from blood, it would not slip out of her grasp. The blade itself was scarred, but honed to a wicked edge and tapered to a needle-like point as sharp and cold as midwinter gales. At the root, where blade met hilt, the symbol of Lloth had been worked seamlessly into the metal.

"I cannot take this," Sabal fumbled out, fingers running over the weapon in its sheath.

Xullae's shrug was a careless one. "If you take it, I will have an excuse to purchase a new one. It is a good sword. If I have been unable to break it, then surely it will survive you. Elerra is outside waiting. Go to her."

Sabal's fingers curled around the sword and she pulled it tight against her body for a moment as if she was afraid someone would take it from her. It felt like a yawning gulf was beginning to open between them, and it frightened the amber-eyed girl. After this, nothing would be the same between them. Xullae had not said it, but Sabal could see it in the lines etching themselves into her mentor's expression.

"Thank you," Sabal said quietly, acknowledged by a nod as Xullae turned away and picked up the sword and armor the girl had left behind.

The words came when she was halfway out the door, never spoken aloud.

_Sabal...I...I am proud of you..._


	10. A Lesson on Power

The halls of Arach-Tinilith were enough to cow any arrival into quiet submission, at least those coming from the houses. Alystin Kenafin was probably the most uncomfortable out of all of them. She was no priestess, much to the chagrin of perhaps her entire house. But even Sorcere required that its students study here for quite some time. She tightened her grip on her staff slightly to hide her discomfort.

Goddess, but she hated the Academy. The thirteenth house in the city offered her little protection, even if her family still ruled within the Upper Third. And so she was an outcast. The males she was among saw her as little more than the embodiment of every domineering female they hated. And the priestesses were no kinder, never passing up an opportunity to remark upon her pursuit of inferior magics. Surely, if they had been her mother or sister, they'd have beaten it out of her.

_Not that Chardalyn didn't try,_ she thought bitterly, looking around her new surroundings. She lingered in the shadow of her sister, Sinjss. The older female was harsh, yes, but Alystin firmly believed that the demon you knew was generally better than the demon you didn't. Or at least, the barbs were easier to prepare for. Besides, there was no real escape from the second daughter here: Sinjss was just finishing her studies, freedom closer to her grip with every passing day.

"Show some pride, sister. You are a noble, lest you have forgotten," Sinjss said with her casual sharpness, disdain curling her elegant lip. "The Matron expects much of you."

Alystin fought the urge to mutter something about the Matron's expectations and lowered her gaze. "Yes, Sinjss." Once her sister was satisfied with her obedience, she looked away and tried not to let it sour her mood any more.

To be the fourth daughter was frustrating, to say the least. Chardalyn, the eldest, bore all the expectations of the house, yes, but also occupied a special place in the Matron's heart. An heir to House Kenafin, a priestess of power and ambition. Sinjss in turn was groomed to compete and challenge for the Matron's throne. Everything firstborn did, she was encouraged to do better. The third was a spare, ignored until she moved up in the line of succession.

And Alystin, as the youngest, was barely ever in her mother's attentions. The Matron had not raised her or even touched her since she was born. Instead, that task had fallen to Chardalyn, who was somewhat bitter about the whole endeavor. Nor had the priestess been appreciative of a female whose talents lay in the arcane arts. Sinjss was not much better, despite the fact that they were close in age.

It meant existing on the fringe of the family, avoiding most of society and keeping her own company. It was hardly any wonder that she'd found solace in books.

"Nedylene, I hadn't figured you for the type to keep around fighters," Sinjss said, her subtle tone of disapproval jerking Alystin out of her private reflections.

The offending person was female, too, almost making the situation worse. Alystin could read it in Sinjss's face easily, the same thing that both she and Chardalyn had pushed upon the young mage: _What kind of female would stoop to a male's calling? _

"I keep forgetting that you live in a box, Sinjss," Nedylene said slyly. She was not a large or powerful female drowess, but she made up for her slim frame and unassuming posture with destructive magics that rivaled some of the instructors. "This is Sabal. I happen to simply prefer it when she's on my side."

The armored girl at Nedylene's side shrugged slightly. Sabal had not grown much in height over the handful of months she'd spent at Melee-Magthere, but she still stood at about an average height. Signs of childhood malnutrition were visible in the sharp angles of her face, along with scars that spoke of unpleasant fights. But what she lacked in the normal standard of beauty, Sabal made up for with intensity.

Alystin normally considered herself a good judge of character, but this one made it difficult. A person who should have passed beneath her notice as a commoner instead stood out like a beacon. She did not belong here, alongside the privileged. And yet, the amber eyes and the confidence in that barely readable expression dared anyone to make her leave. Somehow, this girl in armor seemed effortlessly in control of not only herself, but possibly those around her.

The mage didn't have to look to know Sinjss was bristling, sensing a challenge to her authority. "Arach-Tinilith is not a place for a sword-swinger to wander freely," the older female said, meeting the amber eyes.

"I am studying here. If that is a problem, perhaps you should take it up with the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith," Sabal said, not flinching from the stare that had been so effective on Alystin herself.

There was a moment of silence, and then ever so slowly, her face contorting into a snarl as she did it, Sinjss looked away. "A warrior should learn their place," she said darkly, to save herself face.

The amber eyes narrowed slightly and the temperature seemed to drop a few more degrees. "I know my purpose. Can you say the same?"

Nedylene's laugh broke the tension, her dark eyes turned to shining slits of humor. "You just make friends everywhere you go, Sabal. And as for you, Sinjss, why don't you go find that male of yours? You could use some venting, I think."

Sinjss grunted and muttered something about doing something more important before she stalked off, leaving Alystin with two new faces in Nedylene and Sabal. The mage fidgeted slightly, reassured somewhat by Nedylene's snickering. "She's such a bitch," the priestess said, clearly pleased with Sabal's tiny victory there. "I can't wait to see you knock her off that goddamn pedestal in combat training."

Sabal raised an eyebrow slightly. "And do your dirty work for you? Perish at the thought."

"And here I thought we were making progress...ah, well," Nedylene said with a sigh. She turned to Alystin, examining her critically. "I heard there was a female wizard in Kenafin's noble ranks. Terrible disappointment, I'm sure. But if you can sling a spell half as well as your sister can pick fights, you'll do marvelously. I am Nedylene Druu'giir."

"Alystin," the mage said cautiously, hearing the name of a rival house. It was hardly surprising, of course, but she had lived a somewhat sheltered existence so far, and never actually looked upon an opposing noble. For someone she was supposed to hate, so far Nedylene seemed more agreeable than her siblings—not that Alystin would ever admit it. She glanced over at the amber-eyed girl. "And you?"

"Sabal A'Daragon."

It was Xullae's surname. Sabal had discussed it with Elerra, well aware of the fact that she couldn't pretend to be from a house to avoid trouble. There was no difficulty in reading the shock that flashed across the surface of Alystin's mind. Commoners did not attend the Academy.

"I...see," Alystin said, barely catching herself to avoid blurting out something equal parts obvious and idiotic.

"She's a little baby mage," Nedylene crowed, looking far too pleased with Alystin's awkwardness. "This is perfect! Nothing will piss Sinjss off more than her getting a helping hand."

The expression on Sabal's face, lips pursed and expression mildly skeptical, suggested that this kind of scheme was not uncommon. Alystin made a small gesture of helplessness and appeal towards the amber-eyed girl, who did—mercifully—step in. "Nedylene, be still. Do you wish to worsen Sinjss's temper? Rest assured that it will fall back upon you."

"Oh, you had to go and be sensible," the priestess-in-training muttered, crossing her arms. "Fine. I'll stay with my more mundane ways of tripping her up. Come on, Kenafin. I'll show you where you are expected to stay."

Sabal watched them go, amber eyes reflecting slightly in the light. It had been a very new experience, being around those of her own age. She had become accustomed to the sharp rebukes and criticisms of experienced drow on all sides, the subtle shifting of politics among the Yath'Abban, the harsh punishments that followed even a single step out of line. For most other students, this was the first time they were forced to prove they deserved something. For Sabal, the measures of her instructors here were so much easier to meet than the impossibly high ones set by Xullae. Suddenly, she was surrounded by people who were softer than she was, less experienced, less trained.

It was not easy, but the value of everything she had learned only increased with each passing day. Here, surrounded by priestesses, Sabal found herself meeting the world on equal ground. The small, almost completely hidden flashes of respect that her teachers sometimes gave her were worth every exhausting week she had spent drilling with Xullae.

Melee-Magthere might have been a more obvious choice, but the duty of an inquisitor went beyond simple blades and tactics. She was expected to know the doctrine of the Church by heart and to be able to root anything that was not approved by the Demon Queen. A healthy dose of indoctrination didn't hurt either, granted. Xullae, however, had beaten them to it.

The amber-eyed drowess padded off through the halls to one of the empty training rooms and unbuckled her sword belt, laying the blade down on the mat. Then the girl carefully picked up a candle stub in its holder nearby and set it down, lighting it with the glowing taper that rested in the silver dish next to it. She had been careful not to abandon the practice of her mind, always conscious that it was her greatest strength. Sabal placed the candle right in front of her, then pressed her palms flat against her thighs and gathered her will.

It was a delicate, precise endeavor to shape and curl the flame. Her eyes focused on the flame at the same time her mind did.

The orange flame, impossibly brilliant to her darkness-accustomed eyes, flared and leaped abruptly, spinning and whirling like the body of a dancer. Beads of wax rolled down the side of the tallow cylinder, gleaming in the candlelight. Limbs appeared in the fire, a tiny and shadowy figure flickering almost like a moving creature tethered to the black wick. The heat felt like it was everywhere around her, never quite enough to scorch. Fire died almost completely out, then bloomed up again into a golden rose of warmth.

In moments like this, beauty so gently stirred to life, Sabal imagined that the rest of the world just suddenly ceased to be. Her storming mind came to a gentle lull and all the uncertainty that dogged her every step vanished. Time passed without an acknowledgment from the young drowess enraptured by the flame.

It was the soft creak of the mats behind her that snapped her out of her thoughts. As quickly as it had been lit, she extinguished it with a thought and stared into the curls of smoke that trailed off the wick. Unfortunately, she could not will her eyes to adjust any faster than they wished to.

"So you know your purpose, commoner. Let us see if you can be taught your place," a voice said, softly and dangerously.

_Sinjss, _Sabal knew without having to think. "I have no quarrel with you, Sinjss of House Kenafin. Walk, and you will have no regrets."

"Oh, but I have quarrel with you," the older female said. There was the soft hiss of a snake whip being uncurled.

The amber-eyed drowess's nature warred with itself. Her training screamed for her to submit to the punishment of a priestess, but her pride and will told her just as powerfully to turn and fight. She barely felt the sting of the lash when it hit her shoulder, the teeth unable to pierce her armor.

"Are you afraid of a priestess now, that you will not rise?" Sinjss demanded.

Without a sound, Sabal rose to her feet and left her blade behind. "You are no priestess yet. When the Spider Queen bestows Her attention upon you, then perhaps I will be concerned with you. I offer only one more chance for you to turn and leave," the wilder said, her expression cold.

The only answer she received was a sneer and the crack of the whip across her face. One ear exploded in pain as the snake whip's fangs pierced it and tore the soft lobe of that ear. Sabal's reaction came without a thought, programmed into her by instinct. A strike was not suffered if it did not come from a true priestess.

There was a sound like tearing silk and the sudden sharp pain in Sabal's temples dropped back to a barely perceptible ache. Sinjss had dropped to her knees like a puppet with its strings cut, her hand clamped over her face. Blood was streaming from her nose and the corner of her mouth, eyes almost rolled back in her head. Her thoughts were fleeing every which way in panic around the honed, mirror-like surface of Sabal's own. Just as Xullae had once done to her, Sabal drove in mercilessly and pulled agony to the surface. But to be powerless was the true blow to a priestess who had always been in control. Sinjss was unable to lift a finger unless it pleased Sabal.

_Do you see? You are never safe from my wrath, never free from my will. Even in your thoughts, I may find_ you. Here, Sabal did not yield. She had been trained to always push harder when someone had dared resist. Punish disobedience and rebellion with force. That was what the Church instilled.

Sinjss gave a barely audible whimper, her form twitching slightly even as it jerked back up to its feet. Sabal closed the distance between them in an instant, cradling her own torn ear.

_Abandon this pursuit...or do not. Whether you live or die concerns me very little. I can rend the fabric of your being until there is not a Sinjss of House Kenafin to return._

The priestess-in-training coughed and choked, her body crumpling as it came back under her power. When she looked up at Sabal, it was with wide eyes that were fearful and exposed. There was no armor that protected one from the eyes of an inquisitor. Instead, everything was stripped bare. She had never in her life felt so naked as she did now, looking up into those feral amber eyes. "Do not...please...never again."

"Keep to your affairs, and I will mine," Sabal said harshly, her nose full of the smell of hot copper. She could feel the blood trickling into her cupped hand, but pushed the pain aside for now.

Without a word, Sinjss turned and fled, leaving even the snake whip. The amber-eyed girl crouched down and picked up the weapon, the three hissing heads curling back to strike at her again. She met their gaze fiercely, overpowering that will with her own. This would be hers, as a sign to the others who studied here. Every drow kept tokens of their victories, after all.

This was what power felt like.


	11. The Triumvirate

Nedelyne had never known what to think of Sabal. This was no different, the amber-eyed girl standing before her with a face dripping blood and a snake whip twisting and moving docilely on her belt. These were wounds easily recognizable to any priestess, from a strike of the same weapon.

It had House Kenafin's symbol on it.

"Your ear lost its point," the priestess in training said cautiously, unable to read her companion's emotions. "I do not think I can repair that. But I can heal the rest without a scar."

"Leave it," Sabal said with a shrug as she strode into the room they shared. Her movements were precise, fluid, despite the burning pain she felt. She paused at the basin and carefully began to clean her wounds with a soft cloth wetted in the bowl. "I want it to scar."

"A strange decision. It will mar your face, you know," Nedelyne said, relaxing slightly. Her eyes, however, were still fixed on the whip as if hypnotized. _What kind of warrior can do that? What kind dares to? _A shiver of fear coursed down her spine. _If she can take down Sinjss, she could do the same to me._

"Should I care? Beauty has never been my strong point. Besides, it gives you more of a chance with the males. Someone has to be the pretty one," the amber-eyed drowess said casually, turning back. There was a hint of a faint smile. The gesture was a disarming one, a sincere one. Despite herself, Nedelyne calmed down. It was rare for Sabal to lie when she deigned to show emotion, as if she was used to the world being able to read her thoughts when they were shown. Why lie, then?

"Going more for the dark and dangerous look, then? It works for you. Probably because you took that little plaything off a very talented and very vicious priestess. Care to share the juicy details?"

This earned another sort of shrug. "She confronted me. Lost her nerve. I won."

Nedelyne gave a dramatic sigh and flopped down on her bed. "We are going to have to work on your definition of juicy. Honestly, Sabal, if you didn't make me look so good, you'd bore me away from you." Curiosity was still very much evident on her features however—she was hard to satisfy with such a bare-bones explanation. "Is she going to try and get even with you?"

"No. And if she forgets, I have a reminder," Sabal said, taking a seat on her own bed across from Nedelyne's. "Her pride is checked. That is all that matters."

"I see. Well, if I ever get too arrogant to stand, just slap me instead of whatever you did to her. I'm thin-skinned. And my face is too pretty to mess up," the cleric said, well aware of the boundaries that limited their conversations together. It was time to change the subject, lest she lose her partner in conversation. "Alystin is an asset. When you went off, I put her through her paces in the training room. Excellent arcane caster, even with short or silent preparations. You should drill her."

"You plan upon recruiting her?" The amber-eyed girl arched her eyebrow in a delicate expression of skepticism.

"As much as I like having all the glory, I like winning a lot more. Knock out everybody else, then duke it out amongst ourselves."

Sabal made a sound low in her throat that suggested she was considering it, then laid back on the bed. "You really think she's good enough?"

"She's just unseasoned, Sabal. You can round her out quickly, I'm sure of it," Nedelyne promised.

There was a long silence before the wilder made a noise of assent. "We'll see in the morning."

The novice priestess grinned. "I knew you'd do it!"

* * *

><p>The next morning, almost imperceptibly, people moved out of Sabal's way. There was a great deal of respect from many for being able to overcome Sinjss. But there was also fear, particularly from her allies. Like a shark sensing blood in the water, she could almost taste it. Crackling white anxiety that jumped from thought to thought, spreading like a wildfire among the powerful. A commoner with no house to call her own was suddenly a threat upon the radar.<p>

Xullae would be proud.

Was this how her mentor had always felt, the power that coursed around her endlessly repelling most of the city's occupants. There was comfort in the space, but also solitude. Sabal could see the hesitation in people's faces, as if they were unsure of what to make of her. She dared them to cross her path or turn challenging eyes towards her with her own amber gaze. Without fail, they looked away. Little had spread of the truth, but the whispers that had were enough to make people nervous.

Not that they had not already begun to realize there was more to her than met the eye. Sometimes it was surprising how perceptive people could be. But then again, they were drow. It was only to be expected.

* * *

><p>"Just unseasoned my ass!" Sabal barked, bearing her teeth at Nedelyne. "She's never had to use that staff as anything but a pretty stick that makes lights! She flinches whenever someone raises a hand!"<p>

The novice priestess made a pacifying gesture. "Now, now, Sabal, not everyone can be as skilled _and _as good looking as I am. You can teach her out of it, can't you? Or are you not equal to the task?"

It did mollify the amber-eyed girl slightly. "Well, if this whole noble business doesn't work out for you, you certainly have a promising career as a merchant ahead of you. I wouldn't be surprised if you could sell a burnt rat on a stick to a noble gourmand."

Nedelyne applauded for herself in a light and probably silly way. "Thank you, thank you. Now go work with her before she starts to think we hate her. Might as well get started now if it really is an uphill battle."

Sabal nodded sternly and returned to a bruised Alystin who was picking herself up off the ground. The wilder's expression settled back into her normal calm, albeit a bit stony, demeanor. "So you really haven't done this before, then? Not even at Sorcere?"

"They were more concerned with me learning how not to light the tapestries on fire," Alystin said through gritted teeth. She didn't admit to pain, which had impressed the wilder more than she let on. Any sign that a noble wasn't soft was a good one. "And my sisters preferred their fights to be very one-sided."

_Explains the flinching. _"At least you haven't formed any bad habits," Sabal said in a tone that suggested she was attempting to be encouraging. Her own mentor hadn't really taught her how to do that. "We'll begin with something simple. Guards and defenses. You need to learn these before I start letting you try and attack."

"Am I that bad?" Alystin asked, gingerly touching the hot welt that was rising rapidly on her cheekbone.

For a moment she saw the shadow of a smile on the amber-eyed drowess's face, slightly disturbing the wounds that had just begun the long and slow process of healing. "You're like an old female goblin trying to hit a bat with a broom."

"HEY!"


	12. A Lesson on Mercy

"Well, someone has to make the best of it," Nedelyne said as if to deny the distaste etched upon her features in the darkness of the damp tunnel as she brushed a speck of dirt off her slice of fruit. The faint and unmistakable sounds of a pair enjoying each other's company far too much for the current irritation shared by the three female drow left in the camp.

Sabal's amber eyes flashed in agreement from where she was lying by the magical fire Alystin had conjured up. This was their first excursion out into the wilds of the Underdark at the behest of their instructors, urged to track down and find a quarry released in the area. A pair of male fighters and a male sorcerer fleshed out their group. Unfortunately, with them had come another priestess novitiate in the form of one of House Baenre's errant daughters.

"If she wasn't so important, I would murder her and hide the body," Alystin muttered, her mood still black and surly. For the whole excursion she'd been at the mercy of the more powerful noble. "Goddess knows Matron Baenre could just make another one."

"Is somebody feeling vindictive?" Nede teased, her voice taking on almost childish harmonics. "Is the itty bitty Kenafin upset that she gets left out and can't get a male?"

"_Vith dos_! I have before and could again." Even when she was trying not to listen, Sabal could feel a slight waver of something just beneath the surface of that harsh rebuttal. All was not well.

The novice priestess grinned. "True. You're not like the ice queen here," she said, flicking a seed from the fruit she was eating at Sabal.

The amber eyes that had been drifting closed lazily flickered open. "I could. I do not wish to. The moment I find a partner interesting enough, I am certain you will endeavor to frighten them off," the wilder said in her dry way.

It was a game to the others, boasts of conquest and achievement. Sabal understood it: the domination of another so completely that they had given up almost everything. But being surrounded by those ruled by their hormones was almost enough to put her off the idea forever. The outside world didn't have the etiquette of Xullae, instead gleefully forcing every thought that passed through her peers' heads upon her. Sometimes the walls were exhausting.

At the very corner of her consciousness, she could still perceive Alystin's familiar mind. They were more often in each other's company than Nedelyne's with the training Sabal had been putting the mage through. Disquiet was easily felt, disruptions in the smooth surface of Aly's thought. A great deal was churning there.

"More for me, then," Nede said with a shrug. She paused for a long moment, then glared at them both. "Are you going to make me do all the talking? Goddess, you two are boring."

"Then go to sleep," Sabal said as she picked up her blade from where it was resting next to her bedroll. She was more comfortable than most of the others with having her weapon away from her, but even still she liked to know where it was out here. "Someone needs to watch the other approach. Aly?"

There was a brief flash of bright gratitude across the mage's mind, even though the only acknowledgment she gave was a reluctant nod.

Nedelyne sighed and rolled her eyes. "Wake me if a hook horror drags one of you off into the darkness. Preferably Sabal, since then we know it would die of indigestion alone."

Leaving the comfort of fire and bedrolls behind, Aly and Sabal shared a companionship of quiet. Once they were at the lookout point, a ledge of stone above the camp by twenty feet, the sounds of camp fell away. Sabal sat down on the stone with her legs crossed, back against the cavern wall. Her eyes roved through the shadows of stalactites dangling from the roof above, ghosting across the spaces between stony pillars and ridges in the cavern floor. The edges were difficult to see, stretching out into a vast open maze. No wonder, then, that this was where they had been sent after their mysterious quarry.

Alystin was less peaceful, her staff resting against her shoulder as she sat at the narrow point, her legs loosely hanging over the edge. She was always the one who ended up talking when Nedelyne was not around to fill the silence, or that's how it seemed.

For the first time in a long while, it was Sabal who made the first sound. She turned her head slightly to Alystin, the corners of her mouth twitching up for just a moment into a tiny smile to accompany one raised eyebrow. "Feeling boring yet?"

Relief washed through the mage that the conversation was behind them now. "I'm trying. It's harder than Nede thinks," Aly mused aloud. "I used to be very good at it, around Chardalyn."

"I don't think I've ever met her at the Fane. I spent a great deal of time there." Sabal's expression was as transparent as the granite behind them.

But even without knowing her motivations, Alystin still felt comfortable talking. In her experience, Sabal hadn't stabbed anyone in the back. Just about everywhere else, yes, but not the back. _Unless you're me and a dolt when you attack,_ the mage amended privately, remembering the last sharp crack that Sabal had given her between the shoulder blades after a less than graceful, but very angry, charge.

"Consider yourself fortunate," Aly said quietly. It wasn't hard to pull her sister's face into her mind with all the nightmares she still had at times. "Chardalyn is the eldest. She's more clever than Sinjss, more subtle. Taller and stronger than I am. But she has a temper and she'll vent it on anyone weak nearby. At the Academy she got a lot of praise for her talent and ambition. A double-edged sword. Someday she'll use it to kill the Matron. I think she hates the fact that Sinjss is really turning into the favorite these days."

Sabal rolled her shoulders in a small shrug. "Your Matron has poor taste."

The mage cocked her head slightly to one side, silently prompting an answer. Fortunately, Sabal's almost eerie perceptiveness hadn't vanished since the last time they spoke privately.

"I have seen you cast. Your spells are not flashy, but they are effective. Your healing is unsurpassed. Were I wounded gravely, I would rather have you weaving the spell than a cleric," the amber-eyed drowess said.

Alystin tried to hide the sudden warmth that conjured up in the center of her chest. Sabal's compliments were very rare, but never less than sincere. She tended to give them in the same matter-of-fact tone that she used for criticism, solely appraising and never seeking something in return. Besides, no one else paid any heed to those skills that she'd spent hours honing, sometimes even constructing her own spells to mend wounds without divine assistance better than priestesses could. Words of encouragement were rare at home and never directed to her. Even when the Matron was pleased, her words would come from someone else. "_Tell my youngest daughter she has done well" _or "_Tell her I will need her again later" _was all that she had heard, whether she was in the room or not.

Sometimes she wondered if the Matron even remembered her name.

"You're very quiet, _qu'essan_. Not troubled, I hope?" Sabal asked, breaking the silence. The term came to her easily from her time with Ryld. It also worked wonderfully to snap Alystin out of her thoughts and slap an expression of incredulity on her face.

"Do you call everyone that?"

"Just you," the wilder said, abruptly getting to her feet. "Do you see that?"

Alystin forced her eyes back to the darkness below, searching for a sign of anything. Then she saw it: a hint of movement, a taste of magic. "Well, saved us the trouble of looking," she muttered, getting up and grabbing her staff. She slammed one end against the ground, a pulse of magic rippling out to hit the sigils their companions carried and wake them up. The effect was almost immediate, but they were too busy returning to camp to notice.

"Down!" Sabal snapped, shoving the mage down barely in time to avoid a long, lethal shaft that hissed by, air rippling against the feather fletchings. Her blade was drawn now as the others scrambled up, silently cursing Ilivarra for not watching her own damn entrance. _If she's not dead yet, she's going to be when I get through with her. _

"Sabal, they're elves! Surface elves!" Nedelyne shouted from the middle of camp as they crossed through the wards Aly had set up.

The mage froze for a moment even as her companion continued forward. Elves? The harmless faeries who cavorted about on the surface and Chardalyn took such pleasure in murdering? They had the spine to attack a drow camp?

Sabal, however, was reading a very different story in their foes. These were elves armed and prepared, eyes gleaming in the darkness. The two warriors in the lead moved forward with hatred in their angular faces, alien pale skin looking even whiter compared to the shadows that surrounded them. But she could feel hesitation along with determination in their companions. Desperation.

Xullae's training immediately took hold. _Press hard against them. Drive them back. Hit them everywhere. Make them fear. _She knew her fellows would be going for the weakest links, so she was the first to meet the charging elves, steel clashing against theirs. It was not a pretty fight, Sabal's lips curling into a snarl as her blade bit into his and she shoved back.

Around them, chaos raged. She was barely able to keep track of the others, her mind roving and briefly touching upon each one. Nedelyne was wounded, but still holding her own and rallying their fighters. Without Ilivarra and the male mage they were at a serious disadvantage. Sabal herself didn't feel anything strongly enough to let loose psionically. There was a sickly crunching sound and a flood of wetness as her blade punched through armor and shattered ribs, thick black blood pouring over her hands. Even as it rushed out, she felt the mind of her opponent suddenly dull and then fade away, the razored black feelings of hatred gone as quickly as they had come.

When someone hit her back, she whirled and caught herself. "You alright?" Nedelyne panted, noting the blood even as she wove her next spell. "There are more of them than us."

"Fine," Sabal said, shaking the blood off her blade for a moment before she turned back.

"Where's Aly?"

A cold feeling hit Sabal in her chest. "I thought she was with you," the wilder hissed, searching the battlefield with her mind. Then she felt the familiar mind, still in tact but clouded with pain and fear.

Alystin was still no fighter, even with training. She had tried, but she began the fight separated from the others and was no match for the heavy blows of the male elf attacking her. Her staff shuddered in her hands and was nearly knocked from her grip, the syllables of spells barely coming to her fast enough. A well-placed strike from her foe's hilt slammed into her head and sent her sprawling, stars bursting behind her eyes. When she looked up and the focus came back to the world, it was to a blurry face contorted with hatred and a silvery sword plunging down towards her throat.

White hot fury boiled up from the pit of Sabal's stomach even as she ran, shooting through her veins like molten steel. The psionic force hit the male elf before her physical body could. Her thoughts were barely coherent, most of them working to rend him limb from limb. But beneath it was a wordless rage, a possession. Every moment of training focused now, the whole force of that power bearing down on something that had dared hurt something that was hers.

The screaming replaced every other noise as joints strained and then popped apart with that horrible sound that only gristle could make. With it went shreds of thought, of personality, of memory. Sabal was the eye of a maelstrom, her emotions almost out of control. Xullae had taught her what to do when this happened, but here in the rush of a battle, it was so hard.

_Let no one see you like this,_ Xullae's phantom voice coached. _Even allies might turn upon you if they fear for their own lives. Focus. Breathe. Return to your center. _

Sabal sucked in a ragged breath, the sudden surge slowly being forced back down again. There was a keen sense of loss as the power ebbed away but also surging relief. If anyone had seen that, they had not realized what happened and would no doubt put it upon one of their mages.

"Have I ever mentioned what a lovely sight you are?" Alystin said weakly from the ground, her bruised temple throbbing. She was definitely injured elsewhere with the way her clothes clung to her with blood.

The wilder crouched down and turned Alystin's head with firm hands so she could examine the injury herself. The sound of the mage's breathing and the stubborn beat of living thoughts against the surface of Sabal's mind was more reassuring than anything in the world she'd ever heard before. Perhaps it was because she had so few people in her life that she could rely on that the urge to protect had come so strongly. Thankfully, there was just bruising to the head and nothing serious. The amber-eyed drowess relaxed ever so slightly.

"We're having a talk about you and armor later." Sabal hauled her mage up with that word of warning, going back to rejoin the others. She turned just in time to see another foe drawing his bowstring back and flinched. That sudden jerk gave Aly enough space to hurl a fireball at him, incinerating archer and bow alike.

"Now we're even."

The rest of the battle was brief, their foes feeling the brunt of Sabal's remaining foul temper. By the time they had won, everyone was sore and in a foul mood. Nedelyne most of all, perhaps, since she'd spent most of her time casting to reinforce the front-line fighters and had little chance to vent her own irritation on their opponents.

"Should have killed them all," Nedelyne muttered darkly, eyes focusing on their prisoner. She knew taking the elfling wearing that bloody moon symbol would win favor and probably a fair amount of coin, but she found it hard to disagree with Sabal's quiet opinion that it would be more trouble than it was worth.

"And not have a captive to bring back for the Spider Queen's altar? How inconsiderate of you," a honeyed voice said from behind them.

Nedelyne whirled around. "And where in the Demonweb were you and your pretty boy, Ilivarra? We almost lost our healer out there because you couldn't be bothered to watch the Goddess forsaken path," she growled.

Ilivarra was the picture of what a young noble drowess should look like in her robes, elegant and immaculately groomed even here in the wilderness. Nothing about her spoke of hardship. She was accustomed to luxury as one of House Baenre's daughters and the sort of detached egocentric manner that annoyed Nede to no end. Her perfect face wrinkled slightly in disgust as she regarded the elf. "I was observing. Had you truly needed the help, I would have aided you. And your Kenafin girl is alive, not that it'd be any great loss."

Biting her tongue was insanely difficult for the talkative Nedelyne, but somehow she did it. As much as she resented every aspect of Ilivarra and her attendance, saying so was probably not wise. Even if Sabal did have her back. Probably. The cleric in training glanced over her shoulder to where the amber-eyed drowess was grudgingly allowing Alystin to heal her wounds.

"Well, I don't want to be holding that thing's bloody leash," she said after a pause. The gleam in the eyes of their male warriors made her skin crawl slightly. Nedelyne looked at their captive, the priestess who had been supporting their foes. She did not want to be in that faerie's shoes.

"We will," Trelgath said with a wolfish smile. He was Ilivarra's favorite toy thanks to his muscular build, so Goddess knew he had plenty to vent on some unwilling female. This was the sorcerer's opportunity to have the upper hand.

Even if Ilivarra was fine with it, however, Nedelyne had her limits of what she was going to put up with. She was cleric accustomed to violence, particularly focused against helpless captives...but this turned her stomach. Unfortunately, she would be hard pressed to find a justification that didn't sound weak to the others. "I want to sleep tonight. We're already going to have to be moving. I don't want you causing a racket," she said with a harsh clip to her words.

"And if I promise to be quiet?"

Nedelyne turned back to where her companions were. "Sabal, will you handle this? I have a headache. It's like this little bug is in my ear, buzzing incessantly. I told it to go away, but it just won't stop."

The amber-eyed drowess rose with a coldness in her features, bearing down upon Trelgath before he could squirm out of the way to Ilivarra. Her hands fisted in the fabric of his robes and hauled him up onto the tips of his toes, silent threat in every grim line of her face. "What do we do when a priestess gives an order?" she said harshly.

"Get your hands off of me, you—"

Sabal slammed him into the nearest stone pillar hard enough to knock the wind out of him. "Wrong answer. I am not a patient person, Trelgath. Try again. But only once."

He looked past her shoulder helplessly towards the smirking Ilivarra, then over at Nedelyne. "Fine, I will leave her alone."

This earned him another painful slam against the pillar and a growl from the amber-eyed girl holding him. "I will leave her alone, Revered Nedelyne," she hissed, a slow burn of anger starting in the center of her chest.

The sorcerer must have sensed he was up against something he didn't want to tangle with, because immediately he acquiesced. "I will leave her alone, Revered Nedelyne," he repeated desperately. "May I go now?"

Sabal dropped him, then turned to their captive. For a creature who had fought so well, there was much fear in the elf's face and mind. And little hope. She had heard of the drow and dreaded their futures. To die a prisoner, broken and worse in a world so far away from the light of their sun.

The pale features were so much like a drow's that it unsettled her, impossibly bright eyes almost pleading in their gaze up at her. Sabal could feel the silent supplication from their helpless prisoner. _Please, let it be quick. Let it be painless. If anything in you lives, have mercy. _Even at the same time, she sensed Ilivarra's exultation in the future suffering of another.

Xullae's voice whispered in the depths of her mind, _I know what it is to be a prisoner..._

Sabal's blade moved with soundless precision, biting through the column of an ivory throat, drenching the strange robes in dark blood. The tip pressed vertebrae apart, stopping only when it met stone. When this mind faded away, it was with easy peace, unclouded by suffering. "There," she said, her own voice sounding oddly flat to her ears as she watched the body fall back limply, sliding off her blade. Something so fragile did not belong in the Underdark.

"What kind of drow are you?" Ilivarra demanded, equal parts infuriated and incredulous.

Sabal wiped her blade clean with a square of soft cloth, watching the blood soak into the white material. Her answer came without even a glance in the Baenre noble's direction. "Whatever kind you are not."


	13. Words Unravel

"Thank you."

Sabal looked up sharply from honing her blade. "Not words I ever expected to hear from a noble drow, I will admit," she said before raising an eyebrow. "I hope you do not intend to make a habit of it."

"Never," Alystin said before taking a seat on the stone shelf at small room's window. Ostensibly, Nedelyne shared the space, but she was so often amusing herself elsewhere with company that Sabal had it to herself more often than not. The mage cocked her head slightly. "Though I'm not sure what possessed you to do it."

The amber-eyed drowess frowned. "No one gets to beat on my mage but me."

Alystin laughed. "And here I figured you for the generous type. But I suppose we can't all be like Nedelyne. Shall I call you my sword-swinger, then?"

"As it pleases you," Sabal said without much of a change in expression. But the mage could have sworn there was just a hint of a smile.

One that was quick to vanish in favor of a furrowed brow at the next question. "You killed that faerie instead of bringing her back with us. Why?"

The wilder shrugged slightly before sliding the whetstone along the edge of her sword again. The rasping sound always brought peace to her with its calming rhythm and link to her mentor's daily maintenance of her own equipment. "I am not certain myself. To spite Ilivarra, in part. But more than that, for Xullae."

Even if Aly spoke so often to Sabal, it had rarely made her in a mood to share much in return. More often she would subtly redirect conversation or claim that there was nothing really to tell. This was the first time they had spoken of before she came to the Academy. "And who is that?" the mage asked.

"The person I owe all this to," the wilder said with a wry smile, waving her hand at the room and then herself. "She found me in the House of Abandonment and brought me to the Church. Why, I don't know for certain. I never saw her expend so much effort on behalf of anyone else. Xullae trained me, raised me. Sometimes I really did hate her, too. All those chores. And the way she always pushed."

Sabal made a face of displeasure, much to her friend's amusement. "So are you sparing elves to spite her now?"

The wilder shook her head. "Looking back, I understand more than I did then. I think she was one of the few people out there who wanted me to succeed. So she made life so hard that the Academy feels easy. Every time she thrashed me in training bouts, it was so I would never make that mistake again. But we talked too. There were a lot of times where I felt like she could do no wrong. Where I felt like she had taken me in because she really did think I was something special. I miss her now."

Alystin listened in silence, unfamiliar with the sort of relationship Sabal was describing. Her sisters had only been harsh. There were none of those softer moments to look forward to, at least with them. She'd had a precious few such moments in the company of the Patron, even if he was confused by the small girl who insisted upon waking him up when she had a bad dream. Her magic had distanced them even further, given the prejudice most fighters felt towards mages.

''She used to say she felt trapped. Perhaps it was why she preferred killing captives to dragging them back," the wilder finished with a shrug. "I don't know."

"Well, I'll remember her next time you beat me half to death in the ring," Alystin said. "I'll know who to thank for your teaching techniques."

"Works. I haven't seen you rush me for a while now. You learn. Perhaps someday you might even be able to give Sinjss a challenge."

Aly rolled her eyes. "Not that I have the opportunity. She still avoids you like the plague, so I'm free to do as I please. Of course, don't get me wrong. It's great to have something to hide behind."

The wilder had finished her task and slid the blade back into its sheath. "Good to know I've been promoted to flesh shield," Sabal said dryly. "Oh, and I'm going to hand your training off to Nedelyne for next cycle. I promised her that I would beat Trelgath into a pulp, but only if she would keep you preoccupied."

"Just what I wanted. Half a day spent dodging Nedelyne's spells and attempts to snag me a lover," the mage muttered darkly as she headed for the door.

Sabal just smiled a little bit and shook her head. Their friend was bad, but not that...she paused and considered the last conversation she'd had with Nede when they were walking back in the tunnels. _No, she is that bad. Nevermind. _

* * *

><p>"Will you just hit me already and get this over with? I don't care what he did!" Aly groaned, wishing fervently that there was a spell for bleaching her brain. It was fine that the priestess liked being amused. But the compulsion to share very specific details that neither she nor Sabal had asked for was nauseating at times. It was another way for Nede to torment the mage, since their amber-eyed friend usually just seemed to let her mind wander away when the subject came up.<p>

"I just think you should try it. Maybe you'd loosen up a little," Nedelyne said with a grin, her snakewhip curling around Alystin's staff. With a hard jerk of her arm, the weapon went flying and skittered across the floor. "You're worse than anyone I've ever met."

"You say worse about Sabal," the mage said defensively, throwing up a ward spell that Nedelyne's dulled blade bounced right off of.

"Well, that was at first. She's worked the stick out of her ass. Although only to beat people to death with it," Nede said. "Then again, that's how they are."

Alystin gritted her teeth and forced the ward forward, slamming the cleric off her feet. "Who are?"

"I forget how dense you are!" Nedelyne barely avoided the shard of ice that was whipped at her head in response to that comment. "Easy there, Aly. I'm not serious enough for you to get deadly. Now, noticed anything strange about Sabal in the past? Like how when she fights you it feels like she's holding back?"

Alystin frowned. "Of course she does. Why would she need to go all out if I'm learning?"

"That may be, but what do you remember from that fight where the faerie rang your bell? Because what I saw happen was sure as hell no magic. No one else noticed or thought much of it, but I saw an elf get ripped apart, and she didn't do it with her hands," Nedelyne said seriously. "Have you ever heard about the inquisitors?"

The mage searched her mind as their fight ground to a halt, brow furrowed in thought. "Only mentioned," she said, picking out a vague memory heard through a door. "I think Chardalyn threatened Sinjss with them once if she wouldn't learn her prayers right. But I doubt even she really understood what that meant. I think she was just repeating the Matron."

Nedelyne sat down on a bench along the side of the mostly empty training room and motioned the mage over. "If the Houses are so powerful, why do they have to bend knee to the Church?" she said quietly.

"Lloth," Aly said immediately, remembering the terrible dread that always filled priestesses at the mention of losing the Goddess's favor.

"But Matrons are priestesses too," Nede pointed out. "No, it's much less simple than that. The Church has a very large and powerful leverage that's solely under their control: the Yath'Abban. Agents and soldiers that answer only to the Goddess and each other. And the most powerful tool in their arsenal are the inquisitors. No cleric gets to their position because they're helpless. They spend all their life honing their skills to take down other priestesses and warriors and mages. But if their opponent could simply stop them from being able to lift a finger to defend themselves, they'd be of no more threat than a child."

Alystin's thoughts turned to her own mother, always surrounded by that air of invincibility and power. It wasn't possible to confront that woman and live without being a priestess with the full weight of a goddess's wrath behind you. "That's not possible."

"Unless you're psionic," Nedelyne said.

The mage shivered involuntarily at that. The only psionics she'd ever heard of were mind flayers and they were terrifying enough. The idea that Sabal could do something like that was like having a carpet jerked out from under her feet.

"Think about it. You can sense heretics without having to spend years waiting for them to make a mistake. The slightest lapse of faith in a priestess can be punished. An enemy caught totally off guard, powerless to do anything but submit. No one can read people like Sabal, we both know it. Do you really think that's just from looking at faces?" the cleric pressed.

Suddenly, the idea of Sinjss losing her confrontation with Sabal made so much more sense. But she didn't want to believe it. How much of what she experienced near their companion was genuinely her own feeling and how much was planted? It made her paranoid and she couldn't help it. "If she can read thoughts, she's going to know that we know," Aly whispered. "Or that I know, anyway. She probably can't hear anything in your head except those adventures of yours."

Nedelyne smirked. "It's a gift." She was more serious when she continued, "Look, I'd rather have a mind-reader on our side than not on our side. But I'm definitely keeping an eye on her, because it's not natural. You do whatever you have to as far as keeping the knowledge we have a secret. Just think about something else."

"I..." the mage began. But as soon as she started to think about someone else being able to strip everything away from her and turn her into a thrall, a husk, that horrible feeling of dread rose up and drove everything else out of her mind. "A secret, definitely."


	14. A Lesson on Worth

The sudden distance that had erupted hit Sabal like an unpleasant waterfall of ice-melt, banishing away the comfortable warmth that she'd been enjoying in having people to talk to. She knew when she was being avoided.

Nedelyne at least made an effort to pretend like she wasn't, but probably only because they shared a room and certain motions had to be made. The familiar salt taste of fear was always in the air, albeit hidden, when she was around. As for Alystin, they hadn't spoken for weeks. Any time Sabal endeavored to place herself in the mage's path, there was little hope.

It had to be the battle. They'd figured out what had happened. What she was. In some private corner of her heart, she'd been hoping that when she told them, they would understand. But maybe it was her fault for thinking there was a right time and not just saying it right away. She made life easier for them by going out of her way to find solitary places where their paths didn't go, perhaps for the sake of the crumbled ruins of camaraderie she had enjoyed.

For the first time in her life since the House of Abandonment, she felt wholly alone. Xullae was not here to make the aches lessen and she hated it. The exercises that used to bring her so much peace now left a bitter taste in her mouth.

_You are nothing to them. And they are nothing to you. Inquisitors will always have only each other. No one else will ever understand._

_I didn't do anything wrong!_

That phantom argument rarely left her thoughts. Here in the darkness, with her back against the cold stone and her eyes turned out across the vast expanse of Menzoberranzan, it rang with truth. This little ledge on the vastness of Arach-Tinilith's roof had become her refuge just as her room had once been, the place she went to let her feelings brew after lessons were at their end.

It was all about the Church now, about religion, about the enemies of the Goddess and their many forms. She focused on it and drowned herself in it because it was something to keep her thoughts occupied. More than being a commoner, this was a shackle that kept her imprisoned. She was beginning to understand what Xullae had been saying so long ago. Who she was placed invisible walls between her and everything around her. There was no key, only the endless certainty that it would never go away.

A rock skittered down the roof and rolled off the edge right next to her legs, punctuating a soft curse. Sabal didn't have to turn her head to know who it was. She could feel pressure growing behind her eyes. "What do you want?" The words were harsh and cold.

"To talk to you. If...I'm not interrupting?" Alystin said, hesitating in the wake of the unspoken rebuke there.

"You have had plenty of opportunity in the past. I do not have words for you. Get off this roof before you fall to your death, mage."

It was hard not to be unnerved, but Aly took a deep breath anyway and moved just a slight bit forward, onto the flat projection where Sabal was. "I needed time. Do you know how terrifying it is to find out someone could just shred you apart without lifting a finger?"

"Could and would are not the same," Sabal said, her features as unyielding as a statue's as she stared out over the city. "Go away."

Alystin looked over, tracing the outline of the amber-eyed drowess's features with her eyes. Cold, unfeeling, hard, even cruel. It was not a face designed to inspire trust, nor was the mage ever told it was permissible to give. "Talk to me," she said, but somehow it came out not as the imperious command a noble was supposed to use. It was her own voice, small and lost and pleading. She hated herself for it.

Abruptly, the amber eyes turned towards her. "I never looked in your thoughts. Or Nede's, though Goddess knows she likes to share. I would ask your permission first."

The mage smiled awkwardly in response, somehow amused. "I'd have never thought to say this, but looks like somebody got her antics worse than I did."

"You have no idea," Sabal breathed. The humor was there, almost hidden. And as those words passed into silence, so did all the tension.

And Aly was quick to fill the quiet. Everything from the past few weeks just suddenly came tumbling out of her mouth whether she liked it or not, as if to make up for the void she'd left. Having someone to confide in was an extremely rare thing for a drow, particularly a female. She felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Here in Sabal's company, the fears of becoming a thrall seemed somehow less real. She even found herself relating the lurid details Nede had forced on her as a captive audience, just for the sympathetic laughs her own horror earned from Sabal.

"...and Ilivarra is being an _elg'caress,_" she finished, leaning back against the stone near Sabal. Part of her wanted to start tossing pebbles off the roof. If she was lucky, maybe one of them would collide with the skull of Matron Baenre's daughter.

"We can't all be as charming as Nedelyne," Sabal said dryly.

"She's about as charming as a toothless bugbear zombie trying to gnaw on the top of your head," Alystin said sourly.

"You mean that's not friendly drool?"

The mage feigned throwing up before crossing her arms. "Goddess, I wish I could have been born her sister. Then murdering her would be perfectly fine. But no, I had to be from House Kenafin."

"Well, if you were a Baenre, there wouldn't be enough room on this roof for me and your pride," Sabal pointed out. "If she ends up becoming any worse of a problem, I'm certain we can make you out to be no easy prey."

"It's good to hear you're on my side," Alystin mumbled half to herself. She had been—not missing, she assured herself—but certainly noticing the absence of someone to compete against and talk to, particularly someone who didn't see her as simply a waste of otherwise useful space.

"You are my mage," Sabal said firmly. The wounds beneath the surface would be slow to heal, but at least she had this. If Menzoberranzan was a cage, it was better not to be trapped alone.

* * *

><p>Quenthel glared at her sister's child with a look she reserved for very specific failures. "Are you really so incompetent that you cannot even defend our House's name, Ilivarra?" she said, each word intended to wound bitterly.<p>

"It was just that Kenafin mage. I should have been fine, if that commoner hadn't stepped in. She doesn't even belong at the Academy! Why don't you just toss her out?" the wounded novice snarled, nursing burns across her arm from a well-placed fireball.

The crack of the priestess's hand colliding with her desk made Ilivarra cringe in fear. "Would you tell the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith how she should run her domain?" she barked. "Get out!"

There was no need for Quenthel to say so twice. Her niece scrambled out the door, clearly fearing a spell would come rocketing after her. The temptation certainly existed, but Quenthel knew where not to turn. Triel probably wouldn't appreciate it, and it was less about bowing to her sister's whims than respecting certain boundaries.

Sabal's presence at the Academy certainly bothered her, not unlike a splinter one couldn't avoid pulling and prodding at. The more attention she paid to it, the more irritated she became. How dare Yvonnel force this aberration into the Academy? And how dare a commoner endure for so long where they clearly did not belong?

"I see my contribution to Arach-Tinilith has met with mixed feelings," a voice said quietly in soft, comfortable tones.

"Do you actively seek to try my patience, Yvonnel?" Quenthel said sharply with no thought at all to feigning respect for her inferior. "Your pet is causing more trouble than she's worth. If the Church were not so insistent upon her value, I would put her down myself."

"I wouldn't be in such a rush to do so. Soon enough she'll be out of the Academy and in the Yath'Abban, where she belongs," the Reverend Daughter said with an infuriating calm.

"You expect me to be satisfied with this arrangement? I will not have information withheld from me by you, Yvonnel X'larraz'et'soj," the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith snarled, spitting out the name of Yvonnel's dead house with a particular venom and cursed her mother silently for not wiping out the entirety of that bloodline.

"Well, I suppose I have been a bit reticent. Allow me to remedy that, Revered Quenthel," Yvonnel said with a placating gesture. "Ask, and I will tell you as much as I know."

In hindsight, Quenthel could easily see the ploy. But at the time, she was too busy fuming to pay heed to the little gleam in the agent's eyes. "Where did you scrape this wilder up from?" she demanded. "No house claims her. Do you know how much trouble this has caused?"

"The House of Abandonment," Yvonnel answered with a surprising level of cheer along with her candor. "Solaufein really didn't make good on his word, did he?"

Quenthel froze, drawing in a breath with a loud hiss. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, divine magic surging in her veins. Everything in her screamed to strike this danger dead. But unfortunately, there would be someone else who knew, held in check only by Yvonnel's survival. "You lie."

"Would that I were, Revered Quenthel," Yvonnel said smoothly. "I thought it was better to tell you, and not Matron Triel. As a courtesy, in return for you permitting Sabal to study as she should. We need our inquisitors well trained."

"If anyone else hears of this from you, I will part your miserable tongue from your mouth, and your head from your shoulders," the Mistress said. She didn't know what the game they were playing was, precisely, but if Yvonnel was giving her this message, it was probably to wreak havoc for the amusement of the Spider Queen...and her clerics.

"I don't think you'll have a problem with that." The Reverend Daughter rose from her seat with a little nod to House Baenre's powerful priestess. "A pity, that we drow so quickly decide what is valuable and what is not. Sometimes even gemstones are tossed out with the rough. Imagine where House Baenre would be now if you had only watched and waited."


	15. Cruel to be Kind

"You know what I hate?" Nedelyne panted, trying to ignore the exertion that was threatening to claim her muscles. All around them the stone was quiet, figures of their fellow students paralyzed on the ground from enchantments. This was one of their tests, of a competitive nature.

They'd worked out an excellent system, beginning as a team and ruthlessly cutting their way through their opponents. But after being separated from Alystin, now it was just the two of them.

"What?" Sabal asked, nimbly twisting just out of reach of the cleric's blade and bringing her own sword down on the offending hand with a sharp crack.

"Ah! _Elg'caress_!" Nede snarled, barely managing to keep hold with her now paralyzed hand. It hurt like a bastard, too. She fumbled with her blade for a moment and then caught it in her other hand. The cleric adjusted her stance so she lead with her off side and hurled herself forward to inside Sabal's guard. Nedelyne dropped her point and swept her hand up with a twist of her wrist. Her blade shoved the wilder's out of the way and the hilt struck hard in the cheekbone beneath one baleful amber eye.

Sabal dropped her blade and grabbed her friend's wrist with one hand, sweeping Nede's legs out from under her. They were a tangle on the floor now, snarling and each struggling for advantage. Nedelyne was larger and stronger, but she had to admit that Sabal made excellent use of the leverage she got. The cleric drew the dagger that was her constant companion, keeping it flat against her leg so the wilder couldn't use it against her and grabbed an arm, pinning Sabal neatly.

It worked somewhat less well than Nede'd envisioned, particularly when Sabal pulled a leg free and slammed her heel into the cleric's chest. She felt her heart skip a beat, and not in a good way. It was a good thing they got along well, or else the noble knew that would have hit her in the face.

"You were...saying?" Sabal breathed, getting to her feet. One of her shoulders was aching furiously from her friend's attempt to pin. Nedelyne had almost dislocated it.

"I hate that you let me win," the cleric snarled, finding her second wind. Nedelyne launched herself up and then into a tackle, her shoulder hitting the wilder squarely in the solar plexus. Sabal folded neatly over the priestess's shoulder, the breath leaving her in a sudden whoosh.

Sabal hit a jutting stalagmite with an explosive crack of breaking ribs. When the blunted blade punched into her torso, her whole body stiffened and went unresponsive. Breathing was a struggle, particularly when every inhale felt like she was being knifed by several very angry, very large trolls.

The novice priestess was barely on her feet, but managed a grin. "At least you make me work for it."

On the bright side, Sabal didn't have to wait long for a rescue. In only a moment or two, the enchantments were suddenly lifted. She stayed very still all the same, trying not to think about the pain. "I try," she said very softly, so as not to make her chest move too much. After a moment of steeling herself, she grit her teeth and levered herself up with a growl of pain. "I will need healing for that little rock trick."

Nedelyne gave her a cheeky bow. "My pleasure," she said with a grin. "Shall I carry you to Faeryl?"

"Not if you want to live," Sabal ground out. She bared her teeth at Nede in what was either a grimace or a parody of the cocky smile. "Get walking, you little _elg'caress._"

"Might I say that your charm and eloquence are yet to be surpassed?" Nedelyne said, milking this for all it was worth. She enjoyed the wilder's company, but that didn't mean she was above tormenting Sabal on occasion.

"Do you speak well with your face through the back of your head?" Sabal asked, flexing her fingers before curling them into a fist. She had one eyebrow raised slightly in an expression that boded a definite willingness to do her friend harm.

"Point taken," the cleric said with a respectably small amount of smugness. They walked together to where one of the more experienced priestesses was sitting and working healing spells, sporting no small number of bruises herself. People tended to be gentle when taking her out of the fight, of course, for fear she would just leave them in various states of injury. "Faeryl, would you care to handle Sabal's ribs?"

The healer gave them a long-suffering sigh and rolled her eyes slightly. "If I must," she said, weaving a small spell near Sabal's side. She muttered incantations, brow knitted in disapproval. After a moment, there was a series of sharp cracks that almost brought Sabal to her knees, the ribs snapping themselves back into place. Nede grabbed her companion's arm, steadying Sabal as she blacked out and then came straight back to wakefulness.

"_Vith!_"

"Very eloquent indeed," Nede said, patting her shoulder. "How do you feel now?"

Sabal smoothed out her hair with one shaky hand and cleared her throat thickly. "Better. My thanks, Faeryl," she said, looking around the open field. With the competition at its end, the Underdark terrain had vanished as if it were a dream, leaving everyone just a little bit disoriented and feeling remarkably exposed.

"Let's find Aly. I imagine she gave a good accounting of herself even after that rockfall. If Ilivarra still has her face, she should count herself lucky," Nede said.

Alystin had pulled herself up and was feeling gingerly at her back, where the blow had hit. She scowled up at her friends when they sauntered over. "I could have used you," the female mage said accusingly.

"I'm sure you could have, as we clearly have the powers to prevent cataclysmic stalactite collapses," the cleric said sarcastically, offering her hand. Alystin growled at her smirking friend and got up on her own, leaning on her staff. Nedelyne just shrugged. "So, did you get Ilivarra?"

That brought a smile to the mage's face. "Nailed her right in the chest with an ice spell. I'd love to see her walk that one off."

Nede felt the adrenaline fading and a powerful twinge of pain hit her in the sternum, where Sabal's foot had connected. "I'm familiar with the feeling, I think. Goddess, Sabal, did you have to hit so hard?"

The amber-eyed drowess shrugged slightly. "Sorry, Nede. Next time I'll aim for someplace softer, like the head."

"At least no one can strike a match on my face," the cleric said before pulling Alystin a long after them. "Come on, we placed well. Let's celebrate!"

"This is code for her ditching us for a male after a few drinks, isn't it?" Aly muttered to the wilder.

Sabal shrugged with a faint smile. "This time, just try not to win at cards so much. We want to be able to go back to somewhere."

It felt like only minutes later when the mage spoke again in the smoky confines of the Widow's Den. "I can't believe I agreed to this," Alystin growled under the noise of drinking and general misbehavior by the students. They were granted more privileges than the average male studying at Melee-Magthere was, but she would have been completely happy shut away in Sorcere's walls. The taverns were full of noise and fights and dirt, not to mention people stumbling into her or shouting right by her sensitive ears.

It was times like this where she envied Sabal's ability to completely shut out everything she didn't want to hear and focus on the cards. The wilder's hands were still very certain and nimble, her drink sitting near her elbow completely untouched. "Time out isn't going to do you any harm," she said, sliding some tokens forward. "I see Nede was distracted on her way back."

"Mhm. I'll play her hand," Aly said, leaning over and sliding that set of cards to her. She measured them judiciously. "Three _orbben _and two _cressen."_

Sabal gave a low whistle. "Nice hand."

The mage glanced over at where Nedelyne was beginning to pry herself away from a handsome male and smiled wickedly. "Oh, certainly. But I think she'd fold." She slid the cards in, losing a fair portion of her coins to Sabal's hand.

"Where'd all my money go?" the cleric asked when she sat back down at the table, looking back over her shoulder at the male still.

"Mm. You were betting with a bad hand," Sabal said, her expression unreadable as she shuffled the cards again.

"_Xsa ol! _I thought I knew better than that. Anyway, what was I talking about earlier? Oh, right. Aly, it's not healthy to spend all that time shut up alone with books. A tumble now and again would make you so much more relaxed," Nedelyne said, leaning forward with a look on her face that suggested serious intent.

Alystin made a face. "No offense, Nede, but you're the last person whose advice I'll take. Quality over quantity."

"Well, you'll never get the former without a bit of the latter. Right, Sabal?"

The wilder looked up, bafflement scrawled plainly across her flawed features. "And your long association with me has led you believe that I'm an expert on this how?"

"You don't have to know anything. Just agree. Aly hangs off what you say," Nedelyne said with a wave of her hand.

"I do not!" Aly shot back, bristling slightly at the implication. "I am a noble!"

"Right, so if you could do it, you would." Nedelyne was well-versed in how to probe people in just the right way that they would do what she wanted. "But I suppose I can sympathize if you're not up to the challenge."

The noble's knuckles tightened slightly and she let out a hiss of breath, eyes narrowing dangerously. Sabal was about ready to calm things down with a few words, but then the mage stood up. "Fine." The word came out as a snarl flung at them before the mage stalked off.

"Tactful, Nede," Sabal muttered, watching Alystin go. She had to admit, she wasn't pleased with either the intervention or the result. Something told her this was something that wouldn't end well somehow.

"She'll thank me when she's feeling better. Besides, it's been at least months. No wonder she's such a pain," the cleric said. "Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind."

Sabal didn't answer, shuffling the cards up again and straightening the deck with a few sharp taps before pulling her drink in front of her. Nedelyne would be at the table for maybe a handful more minutes and then she'd be on her own. Alystin might come back and settle down, but it was unlikely. Even though the sting of anger was quick to fade in their healer's mind, she was not about to have her pride wounded by stepping away from a challenge.

"I think I'm going to head back," the wilder said finally, ignoring every protest. She figured had earned some rest.

* * *

><p>Aly hated this.<p>

Her arms curled around her knees, clean clothes sticking to her damp body. The second bath felt like it had done nothing beyond sear her flesh with heat and steam. Instead, that feeling of dirt, of sickness in her stomach was still there. The anger made her hands tremble where they knotted and pressed into the flesh of her thighs. _Why did he have to be interested? Why couldn't I have just kept walking? _

It hadn't been intentional. She'd seen the male approaching but had been trapped by the need to somehow beat Nedelyne long enough for the siren call of a body's desires long ignored to overtake her. The words he had said really weren't important, the same little song and dance always used when a male was interested and wanted to offer his company to a female. And despite everything she shouted at herself in the confines of the mind, it was a temptation she'd been unable to resist.

_You enjoy it,_ the phantom voices in her mind whispered. _The power, the control. The ability to inflict harm._

She wanted to deny it so badly, but the part of her that stood back and watched as she built her own ecstasy on the suffering of another wouldn't let her memory offer that absolution. Every begging plea, every gasp of pain had only egged that black demon curled around her heart on, driving it to sink its spurring claws even deeper.

How it began was blurry thanks to that song of need and desire that seared through her whole body. But she could remember too clearly the whimpers and cries, the taste of copper and salt sweat, the feel of skin tearing beneath her fingernails... Some part of her knew it was wrong even as she'd left her damage, marks proving that she'd taken what she wanted. That for a little while, she'd been the one meting punishment instead of receiving it. He deserved it, of course. Every drow did. In her shoes, anyone would have done the same.

Just like Sinjss. Just like Chardalyn. Just like the Matron.

She wished she would be gentle, but the anger always came. And then when it faded, she just left without a word and scrubbed herself here in the baths. She hated the way it made her just like them. She remembered being too young to understand and hearing begging and pleading for mercy through the door. She remembered perching on the edge of a bed and watching the Patron—her father, though she'd never dared say it aloud—try to tend to his own wounds with hollowness in his face.

Those were the nightmares she had: of waking up and realizing that she had become no different than Chardalyn; of hating until everything she was burned away; of turning from the little girl who suffered at those hands to the sneering monster that inflicted it.

How different was she really?

"Aly."

The noble didn't look up at the sound of her name, inner turmoil as clear in her face as it was across the surface of her mind. Sabal sighed and knelt down on the stone next to her mage, armored hands turning the familiar gray eyes to look into her own. These were emotions she had seen before: guilt, anger, pain, remorse, regret, and shame. But here they seemed doubly worse, haunting the visage of her mage.

Anger focused on those amber eyes in a surge. It was a desperate attack, a last ditch attempt to shield wounded pride and fear and vulnerability behind bitterness and cruelty. Sabal felt it and paid no heed to the whirlwind of poison words directed at her. Instead, she cut it off with her own quiet, firm voice.

"Let me help?"

_Say no. Say no. Say no. She'll see. She'll see and she'll go away. Or she'll tell the truth. She'll say that we're the same. And it will hurt._ But Alystin knew to take the help when it was offered. If anyone could make this feel better, just for a while, it would be her friend. So she found herself nodding.

Sabal was experienced at doing things subtly, though it had not been the focus of her training. Sometimes one needed to sift through memories so gently that the subject didn't realize anything was happening. She framed Aly's face in her hands as an anchor so the mage wouldn't panic before gently reaching out to fix this.

This was not going to be something she could ever magically rework. The memories were churning, some more vivid than they should have been, like Aly was trapped experiencing them over and over. Some slid together in kaleidoscopes of pain and anger. The blame and the feeling of helplessness was everywhere. Sabal pushed carefully, reigning in the emotions and silencing the voices of phantoms from the past. She smoothed along the ragged edges of self-inflicted wounds and eased them away. Where she felt fear, she did her best to project calm reassurance. This was far from over, but for the moment the mage had her reprieve.

When Sabal pulled back into her own mind and let her eyes focus in the physical world, her mage was sleeping against an armored shoulder.

The wilder sighed slightly but had no intention of waking Alystin up. Sleep was a good way to heal such things, particularly since this one would be deep and dreamless. But with these repairs so fragile, she couldn't just return the mage to her room either. Besides, that was not a moment of vulnerability she wanted exposed to the world.

So she sat with her back against the stone wall in the small alcove off the baths, listening to the sounds of soft breathing. Alystin pulled closer to the amber-eyed drowess, her fingers clutching at the belt holding one pauldron to the shoulder serving as her pillow.

"What am I going to do with you?" Sabal murmured softly. It was awkward to just look down at the mage curled up into her, but she didn't know how to be reassuring or soothing. The wilder made a quick search of her memories for a few vague ideas of what to do. She lifted a hand tentatively and touched Aly's damp white hair. Affectionate behavior had never been her strong suit, not with the armor Xullae had taught her to always construct around her emotions.

For the first time, Sabal realized what a gift she had in her own upbringing. Certainly, her mentor had never coddled. Xullae's temper was something to be feared and she had no qualms about venting it upon her student. Lessons were punctuated by blood and brutality. But there was no sadism to it either. That was what made the difference between drow, though other races painted them all with the same brush. Violence, murder, those were necessary parts of life. Not every drow, however, reveled in them.

She rested her head back against the cool stone and tried to make herself comfortable. They would no doubt be here awhile.

* * *

><p><strong><em>orbben - <em>spiders**  
><strong><em>cressen<em>** - **webs  
><em>Xsa ol! -<em>****Damn it!**


	16. A Lesson on History

"Sabal, there you are," Nedelyne breathed with relief, catching the scarred drowess as she emerged from Alystin's room. "Talked her down?"

"Sort of," Sabal said with a shrug. "Let's take a walk in the city. I'd like to enjoy this break while it lasts, and you seem to be free of other entanglements."

The novice priestess nodded her agreement, eager to be out among the hustle and bustle of market stalls again. She had an allowance from the Matron, so why not spend it on something when she had the chance? The two wove their way out of the grim and towering heights of the Academy in favor of the crooked streets made all the more narrow by heavy traffic. Slaves and citizens flowed like water in and out of alleys, conducting business in the open air. The chatter of voices and the clink of coins changing hands were overwhelmed by the sound of carts, of harsh rebukes from slave drivers, the boasts of gladiators, and the rattling of swords in their sheathes as male drow puffed and preened to impress onlooking females. The smells were just as numberless, the delicate fragrances of perfume lingering despite powerful odors of so many inhabitants and their different assorted foods crammed into such a close and confined space. Above stretched the great caverns and webs of walkways they had always known.

It was a comfortable place for Sabal, just as it was for Nede. While safety was an illusion no drow dared buy into, the wilder was willing to admit a certain feeling of comfort. Menzoberranzan, with all its darkness, its scheming, its conniving, was home.

"I didn't think she would be so angry," Nedelyne admitted as they cut through another alleyway on their way to the grand, web-like expanse of the markets. "But then again, I suppose it was a risk worth taking."

"Matter of perspective," Sabal said with a shrug. She looked sidelong at the priestess-in-training, lips pursed thoughtfully. "I have a question, in that general vein."

"Oh? Finally found yourself some fun?" her friend said with an immediate grin, worries quickly pushed aside. "Ask away." 

"What could a drow of low status do to prove their worth to a paramour of high status?" the amber-eyed drowess said, each word spoken very carefully.

"No specifics?" Nede said sulkily as they broke out from the long shadows of the alley to the vast expanse of stalls and storefronts lit by Narbondel's rising light. Seeing no indication that Sabal was going to change her mind, the cleric sighed. "Oh, fine. Theoretically it is. The short answer is success and power. Lesser drow have to distinguish themselves for any long-term interest from higher classes. If they can claim enough power to make important people stop and take note of them, that'll usually be enough to pique the interest of their desired lover. But it's a double-edged sword."

She had been around the wilder enough to hear the small noise of frustrated confusion for what it was, even without seeing brows knit together in displeasure. It was a sign to continue if Nedelyne had ever heard one.

"Not everyone is like you, Sabal. In fact, most aren't. I mean, you'll take off someone's head at the drop of a coin. Hell, you and I are in the same boat on this one as much as it pains me to say it," she said wryly.

"What do you mean?" Sabal asked, amber eyes quiet and reflective as though she was thinking ahead of her words, along and even with Nede.

"Remember those faeries? You and I have things we won't do. We'll kill, yes. We'll even enjoy it sometimes. But there are lines that don't get crossed. Then compare that to Ilivarra. You know she would have let the males do whatever they wanted. It wasn't about the Goddess. It was about enjoying suffering. Or Trelgath. You think he wouldn't force himself on a faerie if it meant he could take everything away and watch the light inside die? Aly's sister, the oldest—not Sinjss, she's a push-over—is the same way."

The muscles in Sabal's jaw tightened slightly. "I know."

"That doesn't switch off," Nedelyne said, pulling her friend in the direction of magical reagents and artifacts. "I guess what I'm trying to say is...you'd better be ready to hurt someone a lot, Sabal. You're going to want to do it to them before have a chance to do it to you. And if you're lucky, it'll never come to that. You can be like me and just have a good time between the sheets."

She almost tripped over her own feet when the wilder suddenly froze, offering the same resistance as a statue. A hand like iron closed around her wrist. "I have to go," Sabal said harshly, her eyes focused on something in the distance that only she could see.

"Or you can just run off..." the young cleric muttered to herself, watching the wilder melt into the crowd like a wraith. Sabal paid absolutely no heed to her friend behind her, honing in on a mind that was familiar and yet completely alien at the same time.

She was right. There, sitting on an outcropping of rock with an expression that was almost heartbreakingly forlorn and lost was the cold and impersonal form of her mentor. But the mind was all wrong. The frozen armor seemed fractured, only half-hearted. As if she was daring an assault.

"Xullae?" The timidness returned to her voice just slightly when she approached, as if fearing a rebuke still.

No reply. No sign that she had been heard.

_Xullae?_

The red eyes flickered behind white hair that had fallen forward loose, but there was no movement other than that. _I had not thought to see you, Sabal. I have heard good things about you at the Academy._

Sabal was still afraid of this discordant image of her mentor, but spoke as though everything were fine. _You know I hate it when you have people watch me. _She paused for a moment, not seeing the familiar hint of a dry humor in the flat, unexpressive line of lips. _Xullae, what's wrong?_

"Nothing," Xullae said with a hint of a rasp to her voice, as though it had been raised recently. But that was unthinkable. "Nothing." She finally turned her face towards her pupil.

The amber-eyed drowess was almost overwhelmed by the sudden surge of...something. The emotion was more raw and powerful than anything she had felt from Xullae before, a haunting pain that spoke of something impossibly close being torn away. There was no room for hope or light or laughter, all of those things lost in a terrible void. Every moment was propelled by a mechanical sort of life, continuing to function without a sense of purpose beyond the shell of duty.

_Grief,_ Sabal finally realized. Things began to fit together in her mind, little glimpses of the Xullae she had taken for granted. "Xullae," she said quietly, her amber eyes falling to her mentor's hand. Delicate fingers were worrying away at a ring, a little personal thing she had worn for as long as the wilder could remember. "I...I'm sorry. If I could undo this, I would."

"I know." The silvery voice was tarnished and rough as the inquisitor rose from her seat and brushed by her. A hand caught Sabal's arm and gave it the slightest squeeze of reassurance in farewell. The terrible feeling of longing and love shattered lingered long after Xullae was gone in silvery clouds of webbing around the wilder's thoughts.

"Sabal!" Nedelyne said, breaking free of the flow of traffic. The goblins that had been in her way scattered like upset pins, croaking and screeching their displeasure with the cruel but very effective application of a snake whip.

"I'm here," she said quietly, looking in the direction Xullae had gone. She could see the familiar brooding structure that was the Yath'Abban barracks. "What?"

"So I got pulled in by a few gossips. Sounds like Triel Baenre just chose a new Patron."

Sabal turned around, the center of her chest heavy like a stone. _Xullae..._ "What happened to Patron Dhauntyrr?"

"Dead, of course. You know how Matrons are," Nedelyne said. She paused, looking at the impassive expression on her friend's face. "You alright?"

"Don't worry about me," Sabal said brusquely. "Let's just get whatever it was you wanted."

But the only thing she was able to think about for the rest of the evening was the solitary figure of Xullae and the haunted, empty feeling that lingered around her. Every minute that passed by, she cursed herself for not being alongside her mentor. She told herself that there had to be something she could do to make it easier, even though she knew it wasn't true and never would be.


	17. Graduation

"You're taller than when I last saw you, _qu'essan._"

Sabal's eyes flickered open, but there was no flinch like when Ryld stalked up on so many drow. She'd been aware of a presence without needing to rely upon her eyes. At the moment, her room was dark and empty. Each of the three had gone their own separate ways for their last hour at home in the Academy. The option to remain with the priestesses was certainly open, of course, but Sabal had declined. And now it seemed for the best.

"I doubt that, Ryld. Watching people is your business."

He chuckled softly, taking a seat on the floor next to her. His features had gotten no more beautiful since they last spoke—if anything, his twisted and misshapen face seemed to be sporting even more disfiguring scars. "Perceptive, aren't we? Then again, I would be disappointed with anything less."

The amber-eyed drowess made a noncommittal noise. "You are here for a purpose. Is it Xullae's, or Yvonnel's?"

"My own," he said, face contorting into a gnarled grimace that might have been a smile. "We should talk, as we used to. I told you many things that Xullae did not. And I trust you found my lessons more useful at the Academy than you did among the Yath'Abban."

Sabal nodded and kept her eyes on him with just a hint of wariness in her gaze. He approved, though it could hardly be registered in his mostly immobile expression. It was not always easily apparent that she had learned as much as she had.

"Then perhaps you will pay attention to what I have to say now, if you will hear it," the scarred male said, smoothing his ragged tunic and scraps of battered armor with his claw-like hand.

"I am listening."

There was a little gleam in the darkness as his crafty eyes focused on her face. "Good," he said, voice rasping in that old, familiar tone. "You are at the edge of something you do not understand, Sabal. You have a choice ahead of you. No one can make it for you, but once you have made it you can never change your path. You need to decide what matters to you the most."

"Duty," she said automatically. Xullae had drilled that into her for most of her life and it made sense. It was something that never changed.

"And your friends?" he countered. Beneath his light, teasing tone was a deadly edge.

Sabal's brow knit slightly in confusion. "They have no part in this. We are speaking of becoming an inquisitor, yes?"

Ryld chuckled slightly, but his usual humor was lacking. "_Qu'essan, _what a child you are still. The Goddess's path is dark and treacherous. Perhaps you can choose both them and your duty, but only for a time. Then one day, perhaps House Druu'giir will earn the Spider Queen's displeasure. Could you strike down Nedelyne? Or maybe it will be Alystin Kenafin who falls prey to the whispers of another god or goddess. Do you think you could drive your blade through her heart on the Goddess's altar as easily as you drove it through Nhilae's?"

"It will not come to that," Sabal said harshly.

He leaned back a little and scrutinized her stony features with a careful air. "No, it may be far more simple. You will spend a lifetime rooting out heresy, hunting for it everywhere. How long until you are always looking over your shoulder, never trusting anyone? Perhaps they will never stray, but your paranoia will drive them away all the same. It is suffering to be alone, yes. But it is much less suffering than trying to hold onto a life that is not yours."

The wilder could not hide her agitation now. She stood abruptly and started to pace restlessly, movements as smooth and graceful as a trapped hunting cat's. "What would you have me do? Refuse my vows? I do not have a choice! If I say no, they will bind me anyway!" she said, an edge buried in each word.

Ryld's face seemed more serious now than she had ever seen it. "Then you know what you need to do."

"I cannot do this," Sabal said, fingers flexing and curling as she moved. "It will do too much harm."

"More harm than letting these ties deepen just to be torn asunder? I know how it pains you, _qu'essan. _But you are no child any longer. These sacrifices are what it means to be an inquisitor. The things that a normal drow might have you cannot steal for more than a moment. You will never have a consort. You may take lovers to bed, but you will never be able to share anything more with them. You will never have children and raise them as your own. You will never have friends outside the order," Ryld said, his voice as soft and gentle as he could make it.

The space behind her temples felt like it was exploding, her pulse pounding in her head. "I will be different," she said. The feeling was beginning to burn white-hot in the center of her chest. She knew what it was, of course.

"Everyone who is told that says the same," Ryld said quietly. "And those feelings will destroy you, if you give into them. You know what you need to do."

_Breathe. Return to center. Wall it all away. Think of cold. _Sabal clenched her fist hard, nails cutting into her palm. "I understand, Ryld. But that does not mean I agree."

"I've done my part," he said with a shrug. "From here forward, you will be Yvonnel's problem. But that also means I won't be around to protect you, _qu'essan_. Enjoy your graduation."

The wilder pulled in a short, sharp breath as he left and then exhaled it in a ragged sigh. She needed so badly to break something, to crush it into powder with her psionics. But that wasn't an option, as usual. She made a note to grievously harm the first person who had the nerve to sneer.

* * *

><p>"Don't look so nervous, Aly," Nedelyne teased, nudging the mage with her elbow. "You're graduating. Taste that freedom?"<p>

"Almost makes me want to kiss the Matron on both cheeks. Still, I don't like not knowing things. Where's Sabal?" Alystin asked, gray eyes somber as she glanced around anxiously. It was hard to be comfortable near so many priestesses, particularly in the chapel. It was a discomfort beaten into her long ago.

"Behind you," Sabal said quietly. She'd slipped into the crowd behind them without a sound, fingers toying with the amulet around her neck. Something about her seemed quieter, more subdued. However, even without psionic powers, Alystin could feel something amiss.

"Everything alright?" she murmured softly, pausing in her stride so that she was even with the wilder.

"No," the amber-eyed drowess said with her usual bluntness. Her odd tendency towards truthfulness hadn't changed much, though Alystin had finally managed to piece together the reason. Why lie, if you've spent your life under the tutelage of someone who could simply pluck the truth straight out of your thoughts? "I just need some time to think things over. Much as you do, I imagine. You didn't sound eager to return to House Kenafin."

"Oh, come on. It'll be at least as much fun as that time Ilivarra broke every single one of my fingers very slowly. Or that time Nedelyne stabbed me through the foot," Aly said with a certain levity that she really wasn't feeling at the moment. She was slightly more reassured with Sabal near her, if only because bad things tended to think twice with the glowering wilder hovering nearby protectively.

"First, we have to get through this."

"Promise me you won't abandon me in here?" the mage muttered, looking around. "Damn it, I just lost Nede."

"She can look after herself," Sabal said as they stepped through the doors into the chapel. The sudden surge of feelings were overwhelming, almost smothering her thoughts. It was a thousand times stronger than she'd felt that time with Yvonnel in the temple. _Wantneedgivemehardfast—_

She was fighting with herself, ignorant of the sounds and smoke around her even as they hijacked her senses. The air was hot and dizzying, the cloying incense driving her heart faster and faster. It was like suffocating. Emotions, sensations that weren't hers taking over. Sabal had never felt so out of control in her life, and it was terrifying. She did the only thing she could think to do, operating on the part of her brain that had ruled her in the House of Abandonment.

_No._ A shockwave of cold flooded out from the center of her chest, drowning out every sensation. The world went dark as she forced her mind away, folding it in on itself. _Don't think. Don't experience. Don't remember. Just shut it out. _

It was strangely appropriate, that her youth should end in dark silence, much as it had begun.


	18. A Lesson on Trust

For the first time in her life, Alystin felt as though she was losing something by leaving. There was a fondness here at the Academy that she had never experienced at home. Clinging to the feeling, she lingered close to her two companions as they passed through the arched gate that guarded the passage into the vast institution.

"I suppose this is where we part ways," Nedelyne said with a slight sigh. She turned to her friends with a faint smile. "Not forever, I'm certain. Menzoberranzan is large, but the circles we move in are not. Perhaps I will see you two in patrols and surface raids?"

Aly nodded. "I have enough influence to pick and choose where I go. I'll make sure to hunt for your name whenever I feel as though I need unmerciful taunting," the mage said.

"Sabal?"

The amber-eyed drowess turned her gaze back to her friends. Something in her expression was still troubled, ill at ease. "No doubt, Nede. You attract trouble."

The cleric, finally a fully fledged priestess of Lloth, laughed. "Well, if there's one thing you are, wilder, it's trouble." She waved. "Until you two come stumbling into my life again."

"It's nice to see someone is taking farewells in good spirits," Alystin murmured softly before turning to face Sabal. "I...appreciate what you've done for me, even when it wasn't necessary. I know the Church will have a monopoly on your time, but try to keep in touch."

"I cannot promise anything," the wilder said quietly, looking away again. "You are a noble, returning to a life of privilege as much as a life of subterfuge. Such associations are perhaps dangerous."

"You didn't give Nedelyne that warning," the mage said pointedly.

For a moment, the clouds lifted just a touch and Sabal smiled ever so slightly. "Has anyone ever been able to warn Nedelyne away from anything she set her mind to?"

"Fair enough. But still, I don't particularly care. I'm already the worthless child. Might as well have a friend in low places," Alystin said. "If nothing else, I can use you to frighten Sinjss off."

The scarred drowess nodded, traces of good humor still peeking through. "It may be some time before you have that chance, even after my vows. Inquisitors are in high demand, as you might imagine. Be well until then."

"And you as well. Oh, and here," the mage said, holding out one hand. "For teaching me how to fight. It's not that valuable, of course, but you might find it useful since you're not much of a caster."

Sabal reached out and picked up the ivory ring, examining it closely. Runic patterns had been etched into the band and she could sense a faint hint of magic. It seemed fairly innocuous, but that by itself told her it was something dangerous. Alystin was never one for particularly ostentatious displays. "What is it?"

"It has protections against harmful magic. Like a ward against spells. I'm not an expert at enchanting, of course, but sometimes I have rare little flashes of brilliance," the noble said before stepping back. She could pick out Sinjss's familiar face from the crowd headed her way. "I'm holding you to what you said, Sabal, even if it is a while until we next meet."

The amber-eyed drowess watched her friend vanish into the flood of students departing, her hand closing around the ring. At least she would be leaving the Academy with some tangible proof that her time there had been real.

_Are you ready?_

Sabal turned around to face Xullae, searching for a comfort there that was not coming. It was an odd, discordant feeling. Her mentor had always been harsh, true. But not like this. The lips normally pressed into a thin line were almost curved into a sneer, the sharp and stern lines of her face doubly unforgiving with the dark cast overhanging her. Around the inquisitor, the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees, cold disdain invisibly crystallizing out from her form.

_You are not like yourself,_ Sabal said even as she followed her mentor out into the streets.

_Perhaps you do not know who I am._ The thought was sharp enough that it was almost a mental blow, like the rebukes she had experienced as a child. But Sabal had grown a great deal since then and didn't even bother to swat it aside. Instead the force rippled across the wall around her mind, as harmless as a raindrop against a window.

Nearby, servant drow and lesser races cringed and flinched back like from a hot flame. Even newly graduated priestesses and more experienced drow looked at the two and adjusted their routes to avoid crossing paths or gazes with either of the two females in armor. The silence between them had knives in it.

Sabal ignored the pressure building behind her temples until they'd reached the Fane, the grim stone edifice towering above them. The usual traffic was absent at the moment, the halls deserted. It made sense. The rituals that governed and bound the inquisitors were highly guarded secrets, even among the upper echelons of the Church. Even priestesses were not trusted with them—that right was held solely by the Goddess's handmaidens.

"Xullae, why are you doing this?" she asked sharply when they'd passed through the first set of doors, stopping in her tracks.

The psionic warrior rounded on her student, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "You are not a child, Sabal. Do not act like one."

_That's not an answer._ Every word was forceful, but still respectfully refraining from an attempt on Xullae's defenses. _You are trying to wound me. _

"Do you think I care enough to expend that kind of effort?" Xullae snarled.

Sabal flinched back almost reflexively. She'd never before seen her mentor give into anger or heard Xullae raise her voice. Even after their time apart, it was a shock. "What do you—?"

"You are taking your vows. Do you know what this means? I am free from having to dote upon you. I do not have to smile and say things I do not think. You have been a waste of my time. Do you think any inquisitor worth more than dust would enjoy being saddled with a houseless whelp?" The words were driven in harder, doing more damage spoken than any mental assault might have. Every moment of softness from her mentor flashed before her eyes, but now with a terrible hue of something else infusing it. Condescension, perhaps. The feelings of worth that had buoyed her up throughout the Academy, the compliments that had put a spring in her step, they all echoed false and hollow in her ears now. Her eyes burned.

It was all a lie.

_I won't believe this!_

Xullae sneered. "You always were good at seeing what you wished to see, regardless of what was really there."

It felt like the floor had fallen out from underneath the amber-eyed drowess. She knew some of what she was feeling probably showed on her face, but it was only scratching the surface of the unshackled tempest she could feel boiling up from the dark corners of her mind. This was something so unbelievably far beyond the rage that had ripped that surface elf apart during her time as a student. "Why are you telling me this?" Sabal managed to force out, not trusting herself to speak mentally without devastating something.

There was no answer aloud as Xullae turned away from her, but one did come ghosting ever so faintly across the surface of her mind. _It is better for you to hate. Consider this the beginning of your final lesson._


	19. The Price of Faith

Sabal could barely think clearly, her control held by a thread. The need to revenge a wrong so great was almost overwhelming. But behind that were all the feelings that made her the most dangerous: pain, betrayal, anger. She could acknowledge that she was in the Fane, standing before a few priestesses. Quenthel Baenre was there, eyes constantly measuring every little movement the wilder made. Yvonnel on the other side, faint amusement easily readable in her smile.

They felt so unbelievably fragile to Sabal now, like leaves in front of a hurricane. So blissfully unaware of the storm that was just feet from them. But she forced herself to ignore everything but the priestess who was standing behind the altar: a female drow with strange, shifting eyes.

There was nothing remotely drow-like about the mind, however. Waves of twisted power rolled off the surface of a mind that was feline in its malevolence, something that would not only kill, but toy with its prey first and thoroughly enjoy the sensation of the twitching body bared to its claws. So this was Lloth's handmaiden—a yochlol. It seemed to notice its disguise wasn't fooling her, white teeth flashing into a grin that stood out in stark contrast from its ebony face.

"So the initiate returns to the fold at last," the creature purred, stepping forward. "But is she ready to take her vows? To dedicate herself to the Goddess?"

_If I do not take my vows, they will force them upon me or strike me dead_, Sabal knew. And there was no part in that for choice.

The amber-eyed drowess had to force her jaw relax enough to speak, though she could barely hear herself over the roaring of her own blood in her ears. "I am," she said. The tone was flat and sharp in a way that no one in the room had ever heard her speak.

"Prove your devotion. Shed your own blood for the Demon Queen of Spiders as easily as you mean to shed the blood of Her foes."

Her sword was slung across her back, but her hand moved automatically to one of the knives she kept just in case. It was hard to keep the trembling out of her hands, not from fear, but from barely contained power that was burning through her veins. She drew the blade from its sheathe without a thought, bringing it hard across the palm of her hand. The pain of the gash as it bloomed open beneath the edge tethered her to her body. She could even focus long enough to register the blood welling up and dripping to the floor.

She did not drop the blade until she was close enough to leave it at the yochlol's feet. The creature in its drow form chuckled softly.

_Very good. Kneel. I will not speak to you aloud until your vows are complete—this contract is between you and the Demon Queen of Spiders. Not these priestesses._

Sabal obeyed.

_Do you vow to hunt down the enemies of the Spider Queen wherever they may hide and destroy them without mercy, no matter the cost? _The question may have been telepathic, but she could taste the raw, abyssal magic that came with each syllable.

_I do._

_Do you vow to serve the Goddess faithfully, body and soul, in life and in death?_

There was no room for doubt in the question or its answer. _I do._

The yochlol's smile broadened slightly. _Do you vow your unswerving obedience to Her divine will?_

_I do,_ Sabal said.

_Do you understand the price of failure?_

_I do._

A sudden burst of divine magic hit her like a river breaking free from a dam, coursing through her with enough force to etch itself into the fibers of her being. Sabal was grateful she had been on her knees, as it was far less distance to fall. She hit the floor without being able to throw her hands out to catch her, barely aware of anything around her. She could feel her a presence that had to be her vows curling around her being as burning chains, shackling her. The fires grew only more intense and searing as what felt like an eternity passed.

But finally, as quickly as they had come, they were extinguished. She realized she was lying curled on the cold stone, her throat scratched from her own fingers. It was like she was trying to claw a collar from around her neck.

There was a dull ache in her mind, her powers reigned in by powerful divine bonds. The only way her mind could think to describe it was like the collars around troublesome slaves, cutting in just enough that they would always know it was there but never so much that their body would become accustomed to it.

_I know what it is to be a prisoner,_ Xullae had said.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth as she picked herself up from the ground, spitting out blood.

"You survived. Many do not," the yochlol commented. It smirked slightly, well-formed lips curving upwards with a demonic humor. "Now let us teach you to respect the leash."

Sabal bared her teeth furiously, throwing herself mentally at her restraints. The shock of psionic force couldn't budge it an inch.

"Are you angry, little spider?" the demon purred, reaching out and running a hand down the side of her face. "You've never really felt what it's like to be wholly under another's control, have you? You'll find it's easier to just surrender than to fight. Someday, you'll be so well trained that it won't even occur to you to disobey."

The amber-eyed drowess's response was a dangerous silence.

"Oh, but I forget. You're a wilder, aren't you? All those emotions just make you stronger. More powerful. Let's put you through your paces. Xullae A'Daragon was the inquisitor who brought you here, yes? The one who trained you?"

"Yes," Sabal bit out.

"I can see how angry you are. You wish she had never found you in the House of Abandonment. You wish her gone. Deny it all you want, but I can see how you wish to take revenge. And so it will be. She has served her full purpose in this world. You will usher her into the next," the yochlol said smoothly.

"No."

The handmaiden shook her head slightly with a cluck of her tongue. "You do not refuse the Goddess."

Sabal's mind exploded in agony, her own psionic powers being forced in upon themselves. She dropped down to one knee, cradling her head in her hands. Something told her this was only scratching the surface of the suffering that waited her if she continued to refuse. How long until she was torn apart completely?

"Stop, please." Her voice sounded so weak and child-like to her own ears, pleading for mercy.

"Only you can make it stop," the yochlol said, turning away indifferently.

A foot caught the amber-eyed drowess sharply in the shoulder, spinning her around. "Do you remember what I said about swords, Sabal?" Xullae said quietly, drawing her own blade. "Fight, or die. It is as simple as that."

"I will not," Sabal ground out, raising her head. But before the pain could worsen, Xullae's blade snapped out, laying open her face. The gash ran from one cheekbone to the next, following seamlessly over the bridge of her nose.

"_Now,_" Xullae ordered, both aloud and psionically. Her student obeyed on reflex, just as she had so many years ago under the inquisitor's stern tutelage.

The lessons that had been drummed into her for her entire life were hard to ignore. Sabal had always learned that survival was first and foremost. Why hold back, for the sake of someone who did not exist any more? The visage of her mentor that she saw before her was not the one she had grown up with.

And that was when all hell came loose. As skilled as Xullae was, she did not have the power in her being to withstand the maelstrom that was a wilder unchecked. The first blow from Sabal did not come with a blade as she had expected—instead, a psionic assault so powerful it cracked the stone between them asunder took Xullae clean off her feet.

_I trusted you! _Sabal snarled, stalking forward. She'd drawn her sword, but it wasn't in use at the moment. While she'd been taught out of telegraphing in her youth, it was almost necessary to physically guide this kind of power. _Anything you asked of me, I would have done! _

Xullae scrabbled up to her feet, barely managing to keep a shred of the walls around her thoughts. _Sabal, I— _

_You what? You didn't think I'd be strong enough to prove a challenge?_

Every priestess watching, regardless of station, had drawn as far back as the Temple's main chamber would permit. Not even the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith had been quite prepared for this kind of display. It was difficult to be even remotely comfortable when confronted with so much raw power. Whether or not they were intentionally targets, one sideways blow would be extremely difficult to shake off.

Xullae was no push-over, of course. She could beat Sabal on blade work, at least. But every time their blades crashed or they struck each other with limbs, psionic blows were traded as well. Not to say that old age and treachery couldn't win the day. The inquisitor made certain to maneuver her student into precarious positions, forcing Sabal to take several agonizing wounds even with her narrow escapes.

Sabal staggered back when Xullae's pommel smashed into her jaw, cracking a tooth and splitting her lip. Her fingers grasped for air, but found no purchase as Xullae closed for the kill. Her back hit stone, knocking the wind out of her lungs in one painful blow.

She lashed out with everything she had, twisting her body to avoid the sword as she tangled her legs with Xullae's and brought her mentor to the ground. This was how so many of their training fights had ended, but now with clawing nails and teeth and furious psionic attacks, it seemed far cry from the old days. Sabal slammed her head up into Xullae's, crushing her mentor's nose flat with her forehead even as she grasped for any weapon.

For a brief second, Xullae's defenses flickered. That was enough for Sabal, who struck and drove straight into the exposed mind, inflicting as much pain as she could. Her fingers closed around a knife, maybe Xullae's or maybe hers, and she thrust it as well.

Everything hit her senses in a flood—glimpses of memories, thoughts, feelings.

_"I...y-you lost th-that knife, remember? The one you r-really liked? I w-was trying t-t-to make a new one for you, so y-you'd feel better. It h-had a sp-sp-spider t-too." Big amber eyes... What was I thinking? What have I done? Goddess, I don't deserve her..._

Her hand was hot and wet now, her breath coming ragged in her own throat just as it was in Xullae's.

"_You are trying to wound me!" Not so young any more. I just want to protect you, Sabal. Can't you see that? No...no. It's better that you don't. Better you prick at my touch than bleed your all at Lloth's. Hate me. Hate me so it won't hurt later._

"You knew," Sabal choked out, eyes wide as she slammed back into her own body. She and Xullae were both bleeding, still tangled together on the floor. The dagger had buried itself up to its hilt in the inquisitor's throat, but Xullae managed to focus her eyes on her student's.

_Yes. You...needed...not to...stop... I...didn't mean...it. So...proud...of...you..._

_No!_ She grabbed with her thoughts, trying to trap the life she could feel fading away. But it was like a child trying to hold water in her hands. If she had thought she knew pain before that, she realized how wrong she was. _Xullae!_

The cry was so powerful psionically that it shattered the thoughts of everyone nearby. But she doubted it could go far enough to be heard. Sabal grabbed her mentor's still form, holding it close. _I'm so sorry...I can't... Why did you do this? It should have been me!_

From where he was standing in the shadows, Ryld looked away quietly. Sometimes it was still painful to see an inquisitor begin down their path.


	20. Lessons End

Dark fingers made the crimson fabric dance, winding it around an armored waist, then twisting it and bringing it together into a final knot. Sabal's movements were automatic and perfected, hands never faltering. Instead, the sure motions cast dancing shadows against the light of the golden flame of the lonesome candle that lit the room. She was alone here, everything that could not be packed into a bag for the long hunt ahead discarded thoughtlessly. There was little room for sentiment in the life ahead of her, but she did make one concession: the dagger, with its disjointed blade and silver spider. It was quickly becoming her close companion, despite all its flaws.

The small spider that she'd been given very long ago, with its nimble legs and light dusting of reddish-brown hair, crawled across the surface of the table. Someone else had been feeding it while she was gone, carefully sweeping away the cobwebs but allowing it to keep the nests of silver gossamer still in use. When it was time for her to depart, she would carefully carry it to the chapel and tuck it away near one of the statues. That would be its new home, full of other spiders to prey upon. If it was feeling particularly hungry or ambitious, it could always bite a drow. The problem, of course, would be eating one afterwards.

Sabal reached out with one finger, gently stroking the tiny abdomen. Eight little eyes looked up at her in numerous different spectrums. From what she could feel of the tiny mind, it regarded her with a sort of fond disinterest. She had become the source of food, but wasn't edible or particularly predatory herself. It was more interested in constructing a web using her arm as a base anyway.

There was something reassuring about the tiny, dangerous creature. It was not in the business of judging. Spinning webs and assuring a meal was more important on the whole, and it didn't understand the complicated thoughts of creatures like drow. And it seemed to enjoy her presence, as much as it was capable of doing so.

She did not look up from her packing when she sensed a familiar presence behind her. "Now is a poor time to say 'I told you so', Ryld," she said bluntly, her manner cold and almost indifferent.

He sighed slightly and stepped in, a set of papers bound with red thread and sealed with wax in his claw-like hand. "That is not why I'm here, _qu'essan_. These are...records. For you. I was instructed to make these available to you after you took your vows."

"I have no interest in Yvonnel's games. You may tell her so."

"It wasn't her instruction, _qu'essan_. You know whose it was," the male said quietly, carefully. He knew better than to provoke the wrath of an inquisitor. Simple jibes and teasing might have been fine before, but this would have been like baiting a wounded and very venomous serpent.

Sabal turned smoothly, her face as soft and forgiving as that of a statue's. The wound across her face had finally begun to knit closed—soon it would be a vivid scar beneath her eyes. She was the only female drow he'd met to allow such things to remain and mar her features when there was an option to have them healed. "Records of what?"

"Your family. Your bloodline. Your house," he said vaguely, offering it to her. "They are perhaps at times somewhat incomplete when it comes to the why, but any question you might have about the who or when should be answered."

The wilder took the papers from him, holding them tightly enough to crinkle the smooth sheets covered with neat notes in Ryld's slanting handwriting. There was a long, hushed moment as she looked down at them.

Ryld hesitated. He knew it was probably wiser to leave, but as far as he knew, no one had come to speak to Sabal for as long as she'd been back with the Yath'Abban. He felt like he should say at least something. What, he didn't know. No one had ever taught him words of sympathy or apology or comfort.

"I know who I am," she said finally, turning towards the table. The flame of the candle burst to life, burning hotter and brighter under the subtle touch of her mind. She held the sheaf of papers just above and watched the hungry tongue of flame as it lapped upwards, turning the pale parchment dark as it was consumed. "The Houses can burn just like this, for all I care. The only mother I ever knew is gone."

He took a deep breath. "It wasn't your choice, _qu'essan_. I know I spoke of sacrifice as inevitable, but do not let it poison you."

She opened her hand, letting ashen remains of the papers drift to the floor even as they still burned. "I deserve whatever I become."

**End. **

**Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed! I plan on continuing the story in other parts, since this one went surprisingly well.**


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